Metamorphoses
by Tough Fluff
Summary: A Rory and Tristan story that, unfortunately (or fortunately), involved more than just Rory and Tristan. A story that tracks the metamorphosis of them and their relationship. [future fic]
1. Aisle 1, Kitchen and Bathroom Tiles Aisl...

Hey people I'm back after a much deserved sabbatical.Much had happened during the past four months and I'm slowly trying to build up to my previous level [keyword: slowly].In the mean time, expect some redundancy and occasional crappiness [Who am I kidding … LOTS!].Constructive criticisms will always be appreciated.Sporadic updates not withstanding, I hope this will turn out to be a pleasant experience for you guys.

Disclaimer: I do not own many things.The CSI soundtrack, a single functioning black pen, the concept of Gilmore Girls and HA [I wish!] are a few among many others.May the big moolah above not smite me by flooding me with lawsuits. 

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**Metamorphoses**

**01 ~ Aisle 1, Kitchen and Bathroom Tiles; Aisle 2, Light Bulbs … and First Love?**

New York City was not Stars Hollow.It's not supposed to be.A fact that Rory Gilmore long acknowledged before she moved to the city that never sleep.Stars Hollow was the quintessential small-town USA with a timeless quality in the air.New York was a city of constant evolution and it expected its residents to move along with it.She expected the lack of the inquisitive and good-hearted neighbors.She expected the noise and the crazy cab drivers.She also expected the occasion bouts of homesickness.

No matter how hard she tried, she still missed the Stars Hollow troupe.Taylor's totalitarian attempt to control the town, Babette's assortment of gnomes and cats name after fruits or desserts, the mysterious town troubadour around the gazebo, and Miss Patty's up to date gossips among many others.But the one thing she missed the most was Luke's.She missed the coffee, the gigantic portions, the artery clogging cheeseburgers, and the most of all, a certain dark haired waiter of her own age.

Not anymore.Rory smiled knowingly as she opened the door to her well-lit upper west side apartment.At least now, she has a small part of Stars Hollow living underneath her roof.

"Nice digs."Jess surveyed as he walked towards the balcony, leaving Rory to deal with his heavy bags at the door.She barely pulled his worldly possessions pass the door when Jess asked, "You sure it's okay for me to live here?"

"Why not?I have a 3-bedroom apartment and I can barely take advantage of that with my 18-hour workdays.You on the other hand, are going to spend at least half of the year traveling to exotic places around the globe.We are the ultimate combination.Why pay extra rent when this place is readily available."

"I don't know.With our history, you think it's that brilliant of an idea to have us live together."

"We'll work out the kinks as we go.Besides, as the landlord, I can always kick you out when I'm tired of you."They both chuckled at the thought."You want something to drink?Preferably coffee because that and water are the only thing I have."

"Coffee then."He made himself comfortable in the living room and slowing sizing up his new home.A huge jar of jelly beans sat amongst the chaotic assortment of In Style, Cosmo, Vogue, New Yorker, Newsweek, Time, and National Geographic.He wasn't at all surprised by the girl's collection.Jess picked up a random magazine and leafed through it."Still can't believe you're a home owner."

"My grandmother insisted on buying me a place as my graduation gift.My frustrating years of living in a dorm with no privacy just flashed before my eyes and before I knew it, I accepted the offer.You should have seen the first place she first picked out.The batcave looks like a dump besides it."Rory said over the whirring of the bean grinder."This place is actually her fifth choice and it's the only place that doesn't come with it's own butler."

"What did your mom say?I have a feeling that she's not overjoyed by this arrangement"

"As expected, mom and grandma fought.Grandma later compromised later by only paying for the down payment.I'll have to make the rest of the payments on my own."She walked out and set the cup of steaming liquid in front of Jess."This is where _you_ come in."

"You need me to help you with the payment seeing that an upper west side 3 bedroom apartment with a Central Park view in New York City isn't one of the cheapest accommodations possible."

"See that's why we'll be great roommates together!You read my mind perfectly."Rory gulped half of her coffee."That, and you talk at my speed."

"I feel like being used."Jess joked as he sipped the extra strong coffee."But seriously, how's your uptight, old-money grandparents think of this arrangement."

"I told them I'm living with a roommate."

"You didn't withhold the part where this roommate of yours happens to be a _male_ roommate, did you?"

"I'm sure it'll come out in one of those dinners sooner or later."

"Ahh, how rebellious of you.What about Lorelai?She's not exactly the president of my fan club you know.Should I be aware of any sudden sharp pain on my back as a result of her pinning a voodoo doll of my likeness."

"She was strangely calm and collected when I told her.I managed to pacify her and confiscated her flaming darts collection before I left.But no guarantee on the voodoo bit.Leave a bottle of Motrin on your bedside table just in case."

"Great."Jess finished the coffee."You don't have to attend to me.I can unpack and make dinner on my own.Why don't you go dress up for you date tonight."

Rory looked at him with her trademark blank stare, which spurred Jess to re examine what he just said.Then she laughed so hard, she curled up to a little ball on the couch.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Two thing.First, you said date."

"So?"

"I don't have one."

"That's kinda surprising seeing that this _the_ city in Sex at the City.Shouldn't you be out drinking cosmopolitan while meeting tall, dark handsome investment bankers?"

"Life isn't an HBO show, a fact proven by many angry Italian Americans.Also, my work schedule is so hectic that I barely have time for regular meals.Any form of relationship or dating is pretty much impossible."

"You should get out more often."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Lonely Planets traveling correspondent."

"It's traveling correspondent slash contributor.If you're going to say it, say it right at least."Rory responded by sticking her tongue out at him."What are you, five?So I said one thing wrong, what's the other?"

"You said you're going to make dinner."

"Something I'm more than capable of seeing that I lived above a diner for a few years.I also worked in the said diner during those years"

"Oh no, I do not doubt you culinary capacity.You made the crispiest curly fries that I've ever had.It's more like the lack of ingredients."

Jess looked at her with disbelieve and walked towards the kitchen with Rory close behind.Half of his suspicions were confirmed as he saw the spotless countertop, stainless stovetop, and the little container of potpourri tucked away in a corner.But he's was not truly convinced until he opened the fridge and found one of the largest private collection of take out containers inside.

"You're right when you said you don't have anything raw or anything that isn't doused in sesame oil."

"I do have five flavors of Ben and Jerry in the freezer."

"That doesn't count.It's a wonder that you look more Gwyneth Paltrow than Camryn Manheimwith the kind of diet you have.That's it, you have to throw out anything that's been here for longer than a week."

"How about two weeks."Rory pouted in hope of winning the bargain.

"One week, no bargain.This is not the time for your freakish attachment towards politically incorrect Chinese food to run amok."Jess said as he retreated out of the kitchen."I'm going to take a shower now and then we'll go shopping for _real_ food."

~*~*~*~

Rory had traveled throughout the city to long forgotten corners for her New York Times articles.She had been to homeless shelters, neighborhood free clinics, volunteer centers, and local charity galas.But she had honestly never, in her life, set foot in a hardware store.Luke's didn't count.Contrary to Taylor's opinion, everyone _knew_ it's a diner behind that hardware store sign.

Their scheduled grocery shopping tour had been momentarily delayed by an equally important hardware store shopping excursion.Apparently, the bathroom light bulb had burnt out and Jess was forced to shower in the dark.Afterwards, a half irritated-half amused Jess decided that the luxury of spare light bulbs was more important than food.A decision no doubt influenced by the numerous cuts he accumulated while shaving.

"People actually buy nails and screws by the pound?"Rory asked as she examined her surroundings.

"Stop touching everything!"

"I still don't understand the big fuss you're making on the crack of your bedroom ceiling.It's really not _that_ big."

"Trust me, it feels a lot bigger if you're sleeping underneath it.I don't want to worry about the room caving in on me in the middle of the night.Spackling the ceiling will make me feel much better."Upon looking at Rory's quizzical face, he hastily added, "Humour me."

"Whatever."She shrugged."As long as this spackling process will not interfere with my much needed concentration.I can't write with background noise.It'd taken me a while to get use to New York traffic noise, so don't add to the distraction.Also, don't expect me to help out."

"Deal."He took a glance at his watch."The place is going to close down soon.Let's divide and conquer, you get the light bulb and I'll get the spackling compound."

~*~*~*~

To be honest, Tristan DuGrey wasn't a hardware store kind of guy.Despite of the inherited Y chromosome, he saw no joy in handling power tools.But then again, it's probably the DuGrey part rather than the genetics part that made him loath DIY faucet kits.If his maid weren't off today, he wouldn't even be here in the first place.

He stared the wall-to-wall selection of light bulbs.Even though he had a pretty clear idea of the kind of light bulb he needed, he was still overwhelmed by the variety.Clear or soft white; standard or halogen; 75 or 100 watt, GE or Philips?The choices were endless.He had to sudden urge to ditch all of this and leave a note on the fridge for the maid._She_ could deal with this.

Just when his indecisiveness nearly got the better of him, something happened.A hand reached out of nowhere and dislodged a package of light bulbs from the display rack.His surprise did not originate from her selection, but rather, her identity.He took another peek just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.The girl who's reading the fine prints on the package was indeed the same person he had in mind.Same concentration, same milky complexion, and still the same chocolate hair.

He took a deep breath and lightly tapped her shoulder."Rory Gilmore?"

The girl looked up and stared at him.Blank stare.Her reaction chased away the last vestige of his doubt.This person hadto be Rory Gilmore.Everything was the same … down to her oblivious approach to him.There was a short pause before she spoke up.

"I still have no idea who you are.But you do look familiar. So, either you tell me who you are, or we'll have to try the 20-questions approach."

"I'll give you a hint, Mary."

"The name is Rory!"She replied instinctively.Then the relevance slowly dawned on her.She looked at the face before her more carefully this time and the telltale signs began to surface.The smug face, the blond hair, the way he leaned against the display rack.All trademark Tristan."Tristan DuGrey, right?"

"Ding, ding, ding.My lord, I think she finally got it."

"Do I get a prize?"

"Go buy yourself a box of Cracker Jack."He paused."That didn't come out right."They both started laughing heartily at his lame comeback.They laughed so loud that a few shoppers didn't hesitate to cast their disapproving glance at their way.They finally stopped, not because of those shoppers, but because of the need to breathe.

He looked around them and sighed inwardly.Of all the possible scenarios, he couldn't believe they'd find each other in a hardware store.He should be wearing an Armani tuxedo instead of the faded Harvard sweatshirt and wrinkly jeans; she should be wearing a cocktail dress instead of a simple hooded sweater accompanied by a pair of khakis.They would meet in a party or a high school reunion or something with jazz music in the background.Not next to an endless row of light bulbs with the kitchen tile section in the next aisle and the weekly table saw demonstration clearly audible over their conversation.Also, shouldn't there be a gazebo somewhere in the vicinity?

"So how are you?"Rory asked.

"Not bad.And you?"

"Same."Just then, she saw Jess's familiar figure standing semi-discretely at the end of the aisle."You know what, it's nice meeting you.But I've gotta go now."She picked up her package of light bulbs and started to head away.

Tristan was left standing there to watch her move further and further away.Inside, he knew that if he didn't get her number at this moment, he'd probably never see her again.Maybe not never.But knowing his luck, it would probably be another 10 years before he found her in another unlikely location.It was then and there he made one of the easiest decisions in his life.

"Rory."She stopped and turned around.He walked up to her briskly and summoned enough courage to ask her the question."You want to have dinner together sometime?"

"Dinner?You and me?"

"Yeah.You know, nothing extravagant.Just want to catch up on the stories."A DuGrey never stuttered, but Tristan nearly broke the cardinal rule.He saw the flash of hesitation in her eyes and half expected her to refuse the offer.But once again, he was pleasantly surprised by tonight's occasion.

"Sure."She fumbled around her messenger bag in search for a writing utensil.She finally pulled out a pen in triumph."You got paper?"

He did a similar search on his pockets.But unlike Rory, he came up empty handed.He knew that Rory wasn't the kind of girl that would scribble her phone number on his hand.Also, he wouldn't risk doing that just in case he accidentally washed his hands and lost it.Out of a moment of sheer brilliancy (or lunacy), he blindly grabbed a package of light bulbs off the shelf and handed it over to Rory.

"Just write it on there."Rory raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged.She neatly scribbled her number on the bottom of the box.

"Here.I really have to go now."She started to walk away but it wasn't until she had taken a few steps when she turned back and yelled out, "I have a voice mail box.Leave a message if I'm not in.Call me!" She waved before she turned around the corner.

Despite of the PA announcement of the store closing hours, Tristan continued to stare at the spot where Rory was standing.He took a long look at the package.It was a 4-pack of soft white GE 75 watt bulbs.He chuckled at it.If he didn't believe in destiny, he had better start now.


	2. Good Heavens! Lane! Why Are There No C...

3:07 am, that's exactly what my clock displayed when I finished this. I feel like I must be accountable for the crap factor in this fic. I had this enormous craving for cookies [you'll know what I mean] and a lot of things sounded funnier when it's 3:07 in the morning. Character development chapter = boring?! But since both my split personality and I thought we've devoted too much time on this and no miracle in the world would make this better, I'm posting it. The title of this fic has nothing to do with the GG character, but rather someone from my favourite play. No, you don't get a prize if you guessed correctly. 

Disclaimer: In a perfect world, I would have an A+ in microbiology; David Anders would reply my 500th e-mail soon and I would own all the characters in Gilmore Girls. But none of the above is true and I'm forced to live vicariously through fan fics, both writing and reading them. So, please, don't go all gung-ho over me using your characters for my own selfish purpose. 

**

Metamorphoses

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02 ~ Good Heavens! Lane! Why Are There No Cucumber Sandwiches?

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It took Tristan longer than usual to escape the craziness of New York City traffic. He let the fresh country air whipped across his face as he approached his destination. Everything smelled nice and fresh out here. The mere sight of greenery made him stop thinking about the hectic pace of the city. He selfishly wished that he'd never have to go back. He wished he could stay here forever. 

He took another turn and was finally greeted by the familiar sign on the corner of the road. Laurel Grove, the poetic name that his Grandfather had given to his home. A picturesque little spot outside Hartford complete with rolling hills and rippling streams. On the surface, his visit would look like an obligated event. Or maybe something akin to a scene from Tuesday's with Morrie. But no. This is more than that. Much more. 

As he drove down the gravel path lined with majestic oak trees, he was temporarily transported back to his early childhood. He would visit his grandparents every weekend. Grandma would read the censored version of the gods on Mount Olympus and grandpa would play hide and seek with him while trying to explain natural phenomenon to the perplexed boy. He would then feast on a plate of M&M cookies and fall asleep on his way home after an exhausting day. 

Tristan continued to come here when possible. As he steadily matured to a young man, he was simultaneously exposed to the dark depressed world of his parents. The Laurel Grove was a safe house for him. This was the place where he would retreat to when his parents spice up their verbal abuse by hurling Ming Dynasty vases at each other. Grandpa would dispense pearls of wisdom and optimism while his soothing words calm him down. The familiar plate of M&M cookies reminded him that despite of everything, there's something in his life that would stay constant. 

He was more then a grandfather. He was the father Tristan never hand and Tristan was the son he never had. Over the years, they had understood each other better than anybody. He skilfully manoeuvred his car to the front door and turned off the ignition. The fresh air made his steps bouncier. Inside, the housekeeper was already waiting for him. 

"Good Afternoon Mr. DuGrey."

"Harold, for the last time, stop calling me Mr. DuGrey. You make me sound like my grandfather." Tristan protested weakly to the aging housekeeper. Harold, along with the oak trees and the moss-covered fountain, was a part of the fixtures in his childhood. Ever since he could remember, he would protest against his title and Harold would reply him the same way with his trademark stiff upper lip. 

"Sure, Mr. DuGrey." 

"How's gramp doing?" 

"Fine. He's having tea in the greenhouse, would you like to join him?" 

"Of course. Harold would you mind bringing me a plate of cookies please." 

The housekeeper smiled at him. He could never resist Tristan when he used his soft pleading voice. "Sure, Mr. DuGrey." 

He chuckled at his response. The same routine was acted out between the two since he was still in diapers. To be honest, Tristan would start worrying if Harold started calling him Tristan instead of Mr. DuGrey. It might throw his universe out of alignment. 

He loved this place, really. Furniture were arranged a certain way not because some interior designer thought it would look good on the cover of Architectural Digest. They were displayed according to sentimental values and fond memories. Everything from the yellowed wedding pictures of his grandparents, to the plain looking music box on the corner table, to the crystal vase on the centre of the coffee always reminded him of the old days. It was a simpler time when he would run his chubby and sticky fingers all over the place to the dismay of Harold. 

He finally found his Grandfather sitting amidst an assortment of tropical plants, reading a magazine. 

"Hey gramp. What's my horoscope?" 

"Next week will feature family scandal, almost a dozen murders, a drowned girlfriend and lots of manic depression. Yet in no way was it based on _Hamlet_," Janlen DuGrey replied with a straight face obviously pulling it out of thin air. 

"Good. I was still worrying over the last one where you said a sign from the heavens would guide my every waking moment for the foreseeable future. It would be a sign telling me about the WB's hot new show. " Tristan laughed as he took the seat right across his Grandfather. "Thank god we cleared _that_ up. How are you?" 

"I'm good." He said as he nibbled his cucumber sandwich. 

"I brought you the books you asked for. I believe you wanted _The Stone Diaries _and _The Blind Assassin_." He handed them over to his grandfather. 

"Thank you. How's your father?" 

"I have no clue. I believe the editor of Fortune can provide a better answer." 

"How's your brother?" 

"I have no clue. I believe the New York Times gossip columnist can provide a better answer." 

"How are you, and _don't_ tell me that you have no clue." 

"I'm fine gramp. More than fine, actually, I'm very good. I got out of the meeting early today." He replied while Harold came in and delivered the cookies and an extra cup and saucer. 

"Harold, can I have more of these cucumber sandwiches?" Janlen asked as he handed the empty plate to Harold. 

"Yes Sir." 

"Enough with the small talk. What brings you here?" 

"What? Do I need to have an ulterior motive to visit my dear grandfather? I'm shocked that you think of me that way." 

"Tristan, I may be old, but I'm not senile. You didn't drive all the way from New York on a Tuesday afternoon to drop off some books and have afternoon tea with me. You're here for more." 

"As always, I'm transparent in front of you." He grabbed a cookie from the plate and took a sizable bite as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Grandpa, do you believe in destiny or coincidence?" 

The elder Dugrey let out a mild chuckle. "Why can't you ask something simpler, like quantum cryptography or the enzyme sequence in DNA replication? You sure you don't want to know about the refractive index of rose quartz instead?" 

"I learned those in my university science options." He deadpanned. Then his voice lost its sardonic humour and gained a serious edge. "But seriously, which one do you believe in?" 

"When I was younger I only believed in coincidence. I like the idea that nobody determined my future for me and I have full control of my destiny. The fact that something happened was solely due to some fluke occurrence. But when I grew older, I finally realized that not everything was within my realm of control. There are times when events happen, it felt like it was predetermined by some imaginary higher being. You can try, but in the end, there's little or nothing that you can do to change it. You just have to accept the fact that some things are meant to be." He took a sip out of his cup. "What's with the question?" 

"Remember Rory Gilmore?" He asked solemnly. There was no secret between Tristan and his grandfather. He spent more time growing up in here than in his own home. Naturally, Janlen knew a thing or two about this grandson's private life. 

"Richard's granddaughter. I believe you had a huge infatuation on her during you time at Chilton. What, did you meet up with her again?" 

"Yes. In a hardware store to be exact." 

"I somehow doubt that she's the kind of person that gets all excited over a rotary saw." 

"Neither am I. But somehow we met … 10 years later in the most bizarre fashion and the most bizarre location possible. All of them very out of character. This just prompted me to wonder if this is destiny or coincidence." 

"What do you want it to be?" 

"Destiny would be a nice notion. To think that someone higher up on the food chain is giving me a chance to right the wrongs I've done 10 years ago is a nice notion." 

"Well it's certainly nice of you to think that way. But remember, there are times when we're meant to never look back. A butterfly could never return to a caterpillar and similarly you could never turn back time." 

"You're saying that this is a bad idea." 

"No. All I'm saying is that there's a part of your past that you don't exactly want the world to see on your A&E biography segment. This could turn into a possible disaster if you can't handle it properly. Keep that in mind as you start a new relationship. Prepare to face the consequences of you past and present actions." He finished the last cucumber sandwich. "Other than that, you have my blessings. Frankly, I'm tired of all the talking ever since your sophomore year. Let's see some action." 

Tristan reciprocated his reassuring smile and gave him a pat on the back. "Trust me gramp, I won't mess this one up." 

"Good. Richard is one of my good friends and I don't want to be embarrassed the next time I go golfing with him. Which is a damn shame, because at my age, not only is it hard to find a friend with a decent handicap, it's harder to find one that isn't handicapped." 

"Got it gramp." He wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Do you mind me making a phone call?" 

"Go ahead." Janlen said as he put on his reading glasses and picked up the magazine. "By the way, why don't you stay for dinner, the cook is making pan-fried sole with herbs and lemon, one of your favourites." 

"Sure." Tristan was too preoccupied to barely reply his grandfather properly. Janlen laughed at his retreating figure and smiled knowingly. _To be young again. _

He ran as fast as anyone could for a person who's wearing a suit. As he rushed towards the house, he carefully rehearsed the lines in his head. Tristan took the short cut and climbed into the study through the window instead of going through the door. It shaved off a few precious seconds. Mere seconds that felt more like hours to him. He carefully dug out the perfectly preserved piece of cardboard from his wallet. His heart skipped a beat when the phone make a connection, but the feeling was soon replaced by disappointment as the recorded message of her voice mailbox piped up on the other end. 

"This is Rory Gilmore and I'm not in at the moment. Hear the beep leave a message, this is not exactly rocket science." 

"Hey, it's me, Tristan. Tristan DuGrey from …" 

~*~*~*~ 

Rory didn't really like Tuesdays. It wasn't the beginning of the week, it wasn't the end of the week, and it certainly wasn't the middle of the week. It had a certain limbo quality that irked her till no end. Finally it's over … for the day at least. The enticing scent of pizza wafted up her nose as she opened the doors to her cosy apartment. 

"Smells good." 

"Alfred's pizza, the best in town. I missed that the most when I was in Stars Hollow." Jess called out from the study when he heard Rory's keys clashed against the table by the door. "How's work today?" 

"Let's not talk about it." Rory produced the phrase rather with the effect of pent up frustration. She dragged her tired body towards the study careful to not step on the trail of empty cardboard boxes he left behind. "I see your books have arrived." She commented as she noticed that in front of Jess were boxes of various sizes. From each of them, various books had been extracted. The larger part of them were still filled with books. 

"Someone called you while you're out." He stopped arranging the books in alphabetical order and looked up. 

"Why didn't you pick up the phone?" 

"Nobody but Luke knows this number. It couldn't possibly for me. Besides, don't want to give the wrong impression just in case it's a call back from that guy you picked up at the hardware store." He joked. 

"For the last time, I didn't _pick up_ Tristan. The term 'pick up' implies that I've never met him beforehand, which is not applicable to this situation. I _knew_ Tristan. We used to go to Chilton together." 

"My point exactly. High school was what …10 years ago? If you haven't seen a person for that long, he might as well be a stranger. This is clearly a pick up." 

"So now there's a time limit." She keyed her pass code into the cordless. 

"Of course. This is NYC, _everything_ has a time limit and an expiry date." He looked up and saw her smiling at the sound of the message. "What did he say?" He asked with a hint of curiosity usually not reserved for a person of his nature. 

"I still have to call him back, but he said 7:00 Friday night at The Ivy." 

Jess let out a whistle. "Posh. Question. I thought you loathed that guy when you were in high school. What stops you from gouging his eyes out with the fine silver over the appetizer?" 

"I didn't hate him. It was more out of frustration than pure hatred. It's nice to see him that night. He looked better than I remember. Besides, you're the one who told me to get out more often." 

"Not by picking up a guy in the hardware store … immediately." 

"Stop using that term." She rolled her eyes and pulled up the kneeling figure. "Come on, let's drop this and have dinner. Pizza awaits." 


	3. What if He Never Heard of Iron Chief Mas...

A lot of people have expressed concerns on the relationship between Rory, Jess, and Tristan in this fic. I just want to let you know that this will be a long fic, running somewhere in the neighbourhood of 20 - 25 chapters. So be patient, my little grasshoppers. I really can't tell you exactly which direction I'm going to take and whether it's the same place you wanted or not. I'm not going to spoil my own fic by telling you that. But I do have a cryptic message for you guys: If that person has a last name, expect frequent appearance and consequential character development and foreshadowing. [i.e. I won't make Jess go to Venezuela and never come back.] This fic's secondary genre is drama. Trust me, it will become a drama … somewhere along the way. 

Just want to let you guys know that this chapter was deeply influenced by the hallucinogenic qualities of eating 6 Oreo ice-cream sandwiches in one sitting. I'm not sure how well writing with a brain-freeze worked out. But that would sure explain the craziness [and inferiority] of this fic. Also, a big thank you goes out to all those who review my work and my FF muses. I am nothing without you guys. 

Disclaimer: If I actually own the Gilmore Girls and all of its respective characters, I'd sign the deal with the Lego people. Think, you can build your own Stars Hollow and Chilton complete with mini Paris and mini Kirk! But you don't see GG Lego in your nearest ToysRus, do you? This proves that I do not own Gilmore Girls and I'm writing this in hopes that no corporate bigwig will magically appear beside me and shut me down. Enjoy! 

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Metamorphoses 

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**03 ~ What if He Never Heard of Iron Chief Masaharu Morimoto?**

Usually Rory wouldn't mind staying behind at work, burning the midnight oil for a particular assignment. After all, she was well known among her peers as one of the hardest working staff member on the New York Times payroll. In fact, it is quite usual for the night time cleaning staff to find her hunch over her desk working at a time when the rest of the building was deserted. But tonight was different. Tonight she wanted to go home as soon as possible. 

Tonight, she had a date with Tristan. 

Which was the reason why she was so irritated when the weekly staff meeting took a tragic turn. Somehow the topic of pandas being on the extinction list evolved into a mini-debate on the upcoming mayor election. This had unexpectedly chewed up an extra hour of meeting time. She hastily looked at her watch as she stepped out of the elevator. 6:50. She barely had time to change, much less taking a much-need shower to wash off the stench of fatigue. Half of her body was desperate to burrow into her warm couch and never come out again while the other half was curious enough to look forward to the date tonight. 

Jess poked his head out of his room at the sound of her jingling keys. 

"Talk while you walk." She gestured the boy to follow her into her room. "I'm running on a tight schedule." 

"Wow, you looked like you're in Normandy during D-day." He said, noting her dishevelled hair and the sagginess of her steps. 

"Thanks. With all those pent up positivity, you might want to consider being a motivational speaker if this whole Lonely Planets gig didn't pan out." 

"Just wanted to remind you that I'm off to Thailand for my first assignment tomorrow. I'm going to be gone for the next month or so, away from civilization and more importantly, away from regular showers." 

"I'll miss you." Her voice was muffled as she was engulfed by a closet full of clothes while searching for the perfect outfit. 

"You better! By the way, I've restocked the jellybean jar, the chocolate chip cookie stash and bought a ton of caramel pudding. I've also set up automatic payments on the internet for all the bills and the rent except for the electrical bill. There's something wrong with the account configuration and I got fed up listening to the easy-listening station they put on when the customer service "hotline" was busy. I now know the lyrics to Enya." He heard grunts emitted from the closet. It sounded like she was busy battling her clothes instead of paying attention to him. "Hey, are you listening?" 

"Yes." She finally emerged holding two very similar black dresses. Her face quizzical as she couldn't decide which one is better. "You have my sympathies." 

"Good. Anyways, you'll have to mail it in when the bill arrives. I've already written the cheque. All you have to do is write in the appropriate amount of money and put it in this addressed envelope which I've applied the correct postage already. Did you get that?" While he was talking, he whipped out the cheque and the envelope as a visual aid just in case the Rory was confused. 

"Can you show me how the envelope looks like again?" She deadpanned. But instead of laughing, Jess diligently held up the envelope again in a manner that reminded her of flight attendants explaining airplane safety procedures. "I was only joking. Of course I know how to pay the bills via good old fashion mail. Remember, I was doing a fine job of it before you moved in." 

"Don't scoff. Our power was nearly cut off when I first got here." 

"It was a one time thing." She protested. 

"I don't care. I'm not taking any chances. I do not want to come back from a foreign country only to have to traipse around in a candle-lit apartment because you forgot to pay the bill. Contrary to popular belief, candles are not romantic, they're a fire hazard." 

"Don't worry. I won't forget this time, okay? Now help me pick an outfit." She pleaded. 

"Do I look like Will Truman to you?" It is now his turn to scoff. 

"No. But you do have an uncanny knack at colour coordination. Seriously, which one? Quick." 

"Neither." He sighed as he walked towards to closet. "Do not expect me to do this again." 

"Thank you." She hugged him with the intensity of a boa constrictor trapping its prey. "I'll go take a shower, just hang it on the doorknob when you're done." 

Jess grudgingly retreated to the closet to rummage through her clothes; careful to not touch the flamingo pink feather boa in the corner for it may compromise his masculinity. This was definitely not what he expected when he agreed to move in with her. During his search, he even managed to find his AC/DC shirt tucked away in the corner. The same shirt that mysteriously disappeared a week ago. He made mental note to remind Rory to never borrow his clothes again. 

Finally after much debate, he found a nice blue dress. It was very similar to the rest of her wardrobe that way it's simple and elegant. She had a knack for buying clothes that are sensible yet drop-dead gorgeous. The only different was that it's not black. Upon hanging the dress on the doorknob, Rory opened the door a little bit and a wet arm snatched it inside. 

"By the way, I have to catch the 6 o'clock flight to Bangkok tomorrow morning." He told her as she emerged out of the bathroom. 

"Do you need a ride to the airport?" 

"Nah. I know you're not exactly a morning person. I'll take a cab. I've posted a copy of my itinerary on the fridge. There's no contact number seeing that this is going to involve a lot of hiking and wilderness and phones are not readily available in the middle of a rain forest." 

"There must be a way for me to find you. You know, for emergency purposes." She delicately applied an extra coat of mascara. Jess grimace at the thought of people willingly wield sharp objects around their eyes. He couldn't believe the entire cosmetic industry was based on people's willingness to blind themselves. 

"If you really, really need to look me up, there's a satellite phone number. Emergency only." He said as he scribbled a long chain of numbers on a post it note. He stuck it on an empty corner of her vanity mirror. 

"Define emergency." 

"Apartment burning down, obliterating my CD collection and melting my Buddy Christ action figure – emergency. Luke calls here and wonder why I have yet to make a call since I got here – not an emergency." 

"What about a 24 hour marathon of Iron Chief on food Network?" 

"Emergency." 

"I was not joking." She paused from applying eye shadow to look at him. 

"Neither am I." 

Just when she was going to say something sarcastic, the chiming of the doorbell reminded her that her date was waiting outside. "I'm not ready." She said in a panicking tone. 

"I'll do the stalling." Jess replied. He shook his head when he walked out of the room. _The things he'd do for Rory._

He opened the door to a young blond man. Jess slowly gave the visitor an once-over. Tall, dressed in smart casual attire, a silver ring on his middle finger. Yup, it definitely fitted the description of the person that Rory's won't stop talking about for the past couple of day. 

"I'm sorry. I think I got the wrong place." Tristan double-checked the little piece of paper with Rory's address scribbled on it. He was obviously surprised to find a person other than Rory answering the door. Maybe it's next door, or maybe it's the next building, or maybe it's the next street. He hated it when he couldn't read his own writing. 

"Are you Tristan DuGrey?" 

"Yes." He answered hesitantly. "And you are … " He asked when a quick memory jog confirmed that he had never met this person before. 

"Jess Mariano. Rory's roommate." 

"I don't think Rory ever mentioned having a roommate. " 

"Not the point. I would like to have a word with you." 

"Sure." 

"Outside." He closed the door behind him making sure that Rory will not hear any of this. "Seeing that her father and Luke isn't here, I'll be the one to give you _the _speech." 

"Who's Luke?" He was clearly not following his train of thought. 

"Not the point and don't interrupt from now on. Rory is a good kid. If you hurt her or even do as much as put a frown on her face, I will hunt you down and practice jujutsu on you. Your face will resemble hamburger meat when I'm done with you. Got it?" For a moment there, Tristan thought he walked into the set of The Sopranos instead of the foyer outside Rory's apartment. 

After he recomposed himself, he managed to find the right words to reply Jess. "Trust me, I'll never hurt her." 

"You better not." Jess leaned his body forward in an intimidating manner to stress his point. 

~*~*~*~

Somewhere uptown, she was comfortably seated in a quiet corner of a posh restaurant. The clientele of this establishment are either affluent or famous or both. None of them looked like they might have a day job as door-to-door salesman. She had a sneaking suspicion that the guy at the next table with an eerie resemblance of Denzel Washington was indeed Denzel himself. 

A moment of awkward silence passed between them before Tristan finally spoke up. 

"So, what are you reading now?" 

"Why do you ask?" Her eyes lit up brightly at the sound of her favourite topic. 

"If memory serves me right, your face was always buried in a book. I just thought it would be a nice opening line." 

"Mansfield Park. I know, I know, this isn't exactly the definitive work of Austen and a girl like me should be reading Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility or even Emma. But I personally have a thing for lesser-known works of great authors." She secretly hoped that she didn't sound like a pompous book critic. 

"Actually, I totally see your point. My personal favourite is The Beautiful and Damned instead of The Great Gatsby. Although it's the latter that made F. Scott Fitzgerald a household name, I think The Beautiful and Damned deserved just as much accolade and attention." She never would have thought that Tristan had just as much of a discriminating taste as she did on books. 

"It also has the added advantage of not having a big-screen adaptation where some insipid writer screwed up everything just so they can fit a literary masterpiece into a 2 hour movie." 

"I know. I firmly believe that if the movie is based on a book, you might as well read the book and never see the movie. Movies often strip away the reader's imagination and more often than necessary, it's a big disappointment. The Harry Potter series was one of the few occasions when the movie is almost equivalent to the book itself." 

Rory nodded her head in agreement. "I still remember a certain TV adaptation of Jane Eyre where Timothy Dalton played Mr. Rochester in it." 

"Oh, I think I saw that in junior high. Nothing exude on-screen chemistry like an elf midget in a tutu running into the arms of a disproportionably tall ex-Bond with a butt chin. It was awful!" 

"My eyes were burning. I think I was scarred for life." 

They talked a bit more before the waiter set their dinner on the table. She took a sip of the Merlot and smiled at her dinner companion. She was definitely having a good time. 

~*~*~*~ 

"Wake up." Rory plunged down beside the sleeping figure. 

"Wha … is it 4 already?" A hand stretched out from underneath the cover to search for the clock. 

"No. It's 11 pm. Wake up. I want to talk about my date." 

"Call Lorelai. That's what mothers are for." Jess mumbled incoherently and rolled over to the other side of his bed. 

"But it's 11 pm!" 

"So it's more inconvenient to call your mother, who by chance is a blood kin and genetically predisposed to do this, than to wake me up. Me, who _happens_ to have to catch an insanely early flight tomorrow morning to a non-English speaking country and desperately needs the next five hour of slumber time." He hid his head underneath the covers; fervently hoping that Rory would go away. 

"Duh! It's Friday night." 

"I fail to see your point." 

"Mom probably had a battle during Friday night dinner at my grandparents. She'd stop by Luke's afterwards and he'd try to cheer her up. Luke would close early." Rory pry the cover away from his death grip to expose his head. 

"Alright, you can stop there." 

"I'm not sure whether they'd do it at Luke's place or our place." 

"Oh god, make her stop." Jess curled into the fetal position, hoping the images would disappear. But he was still reluctant to sit up. 

"I just don't want to call her up and hear heavy breathing of _two_ people on the other end. You of all people should have known better about this. Isn't that the reason why you moved here? You're tired of walking into the room when they …" 

"And I'm awake." As if on magic, Jess immediately bolted up, noticeably uncomfortable at where the sentence was going. He tugged his wrinkled shirt and slowly pulled himself to a sitting position. Clearly, he's not able to avoid this talk. Might as well make himself comfortable while he did this. "So tell me about the big fancy date." 

"It was kinda weird at first. We got into the car and dance music came on immediately when he started the car. Tell me if, 'baby when I heard you, for the first time I knew, we were meant to be as one' sound familiar." Rory sang the little segment to the surprise of the half-asleep boy. Never in a million years would he imagine her singing, and on top of it, she was singing pop music. 

"So he's a fan of Kylie Minogue. Something wrong with that?" 

"I'm sorry. Did that part about infectious pop-dance music not make a connection in your head? He listens to Kylie Minogue for god sake!" 

"Yeah. But did you see the music videos? I think any hot-blooded man on this planet should be excused for liking Kylie." 

"But _you_ don't listen to Kylie … you don't, right?" She raised one of her eyebrows for effect. 

"God no. So aside from having questionable music taste, what else was wrong with him?" 

"He was kinda embarrassed in the beginning and immediately changed the CD. Apparently he's a fan of the Blues Brother soundtrack too." 

"Not bad." He nodded in an approving manner. 

"My thoughts exactly. Actually, aside from the music in the beginning, everything was perfect. I found out he has a brother, he visits his grandfather regularly and on top of it, he works at the Metropolitan Museum of Art as a junior curator. We had a hearty discussion on whose life story is more depressing, Emily Dickinson or Sylvia Plath." 

"What's the verdict?" 

"Plath, but by a very slim margin. On account that she stuck her head into an over." 

"You sound like you were having a good time." 

"I was." 

"Then why are you freaking out on my bed in the middle of the night?" 

"Because aside from the music and the really good food, this is not the Tristan DuGrey I knew in high school. He's suppose to drive a Porsche, he's suppose to make sexual innuendo jokes, and he's suppose to remind to me why I hated him so much in high school. Instead, I had a terrific time, he behaved in the most gentlemanly fashion and he was intelligent enough to understand my obscure cultural references. Also when he kissed me goodnight, he gave me the sweetest kiss on my forehead. _FOREHEAD_!! All these mixed signals are causing havoc in my head. Is he playing with me, or is _this _the real Tristan DuGrey?" 

"Rory, slow down before you go all Sigmund Freud and start psychoanalysing his dessert. Maybe you should see him a few more time before you make any judgment call. After all, New Yorkers are infamous for hiding their real roots during the first date." 

"What if he's the wrong guy for me? I don't want to figure that out on date number 50. I want to know now, before I invest too much time and energy into it. What if he doesn't like the same books or the same movies or the same TV shows." 

"I hate to tell you this, but I'm afraid there's no easy way to do it." 

"I wish this could be simpler." 

"Me too, kiddo. Me too." Jess pulled her against him and gave her a warm hug. She leaned her head on his shoulder in a childish manner. 

A week of hard work and its consequential exhaustion was finally catching up to her. He could feel her breathe slowed down and her body relaxed against him. He continued to stroke her smooth brown hair. 

"Can I stay here tonight?" Her sentence blurred into a chain of garbled syllables. 

"Sure." He the top of her head and let her slid underneath his cover. 

"I'll miss you." She mumbled before drifting into deep sleep. Jess gently tucked her in and lay down beside her. He pulled a stray strand of hair away from her face. _Me too, kiddo. Me too. _


	4. If I Can Make it in Old New York, I'll M...

Just to warn you: I was not connected to my inner peacefulness when I wrote this. To those of you who love snow, I guarantee your love will greatly diminish once you have to shovel 5 inches of it off all cemented surface around my house. This freaking snowstorm is really getting on my nerves. It is still snowing out there!! Other than that, expect the usual boredom. If you'll excuse me, I'm going out to make some snow angels. That might calm me down … marginally. 

Disclaimer: If the world is truly my oyster, I would've lay my hands upon an anatomically correct HA action figure (That's a shout out to you, Jamie), daydreaming possible adventure between me and mini-HA. Instead, here I am, dreaming up possible interaction between characters that I don't even own. I'm cold, I'm alone, and I ran out of ice cream! Man, my life is tragic. *sigh* Btw: the title was paraphrased from Sinatra's New York, New York. I'm hoping neither him nor ASP will sue me for using their work. 

**04 ~ If I Can Make it in Old New York, I'll Make it Anywhere … Can I? **

It was spring in New York, midway in a string of pleasant days. A vibrant shade of green had taken over the park and there's a gleam of freshness everywhere she looked. The sheer beauty of the scenery brightened her heart. Rory couldn't help but whistle Sinatra's New York, New York as she walked down the street to her office. The neo-gothic New York Times Building still loomed over the pedestrians beneath as she last saw it. Just a look at the exterior reminded her why the previous editors had boldly claimed the building to be the "monarch of Times Square." 

By the time she got there, the office had already settled in a steady rhythm of productivity. Swift fingers tap danced upon keyboards as the reporters frantically rushed to meet their deadlines. The phones, photocopiers, and other electronics stroke up a symphonic blend of bleeping background noise. One could overhear people talking, people gossiping, people pleading and people yelling. The latter was most likely her temperamental editor, Tim "intimidator" Eaton. 

At 10:00, she was late by conventional standards and most people would get fired on the spot if they followed suit. But her morning didn't go to waste. She already did an interview for her upcoming article. The person who mattered most, Tim, knew she didn't spend her time aimlessly loitering around the streets. He had long accepted her rather chaotic, if not unorthodox, time schedule. He didn't mind, as long as Rory continue to produce her brand of quality reporting. But to the innocent glance of passersby, she had the uncanny power to defy authority. 

As usual, Steph, the receptionist's cheerful smile greeted Rory when she stepped out of the elevator. 

"Morning, Rory!" She beamed at her. Sometimes Rory wondered if Steph's face was permanently fixated on that saccharine expression. Maybe staples were involved. The overtly sunny personality aside, Steph was not a bad person. She's actually half decent when it came to relationship advices. Talk about unlikely source. 

"Morning, Steph." She paused for a second, then added, "Hey I got a question. How long should you call a person back after a date?" The concept had irked her throughout the weekend. She didn't want to come off as too aloof or too needy. She heard enough stories to know that either impression could seriously jeopardize the prospect of a second date. And she wanted a second date with Tristan. 

"Don't call. Wait for _him _to call _you_. Only call if that doesn't happen within a week and a half." Steph said with a tone of expertise accumulated from years of Cosmo reading. 

"Thanks." 

But instead of ending it there, she gave her a once over for a second too long. Something about being on the receiving end of that look unnerved her. This was a reason why she seldom consulted Steph for advice. Rory would normally run to her mother or, lately, Jess for advice. Unfortunately, the former was too busy for her first-born and the latter was tucked away in a Southeast Asian country. 

"Oh my god!" Just when she thought the girl had gleamed some brand of cosmic revelation off her, Steph proclaimed, "You cancelled your Cosmo subscription." Unbelievably, she said it with a genuine straight face. 

"Yeah. Too little time to read all my subscriptions and it just end up sitting on the coffee table with no purpose whatsoever." She smiled. It was the best reply she could've come up with for someone who worshiped it. 

"Too bad. It got some good stuff in there sometimes." 

Rory was having trouble keeping a straight face at the comment. She could feel her left eyebrow twitching but she doubt that it's noticeable. Just when she was ready to head off to her office, Steph waved a post-it note in her face. 

"Somebody called twice this morning. A certain Mr. Tristan DuGrey called, but he didn't leave any messages." She delivered her line with a hint of natural curiosity. A good reporter can detect the scent of a good story. Although Steph was not exactly a reporter, she did work in The New York Times Building. There's something about the atmosphere that made you sniffed around for stories. 

"Thank you." She replied politely as she looked at the childish round scribble on the paper. To Steph's disappointment, she didn't add on to that. Rory was one of those who liked to keep her private life private. Step was one of those who liked to keep other people's private life public. 

Just then, as if on cue, the shrill ringing of the phone captured the receptionist's attention. Rory picked the moment to slip away. She really had to start working before somebody spots her and accused her of slacking off. It's one thing to do an early morning interview before you hit the office; it's another to engage in mindless chatter in the office. 

She barely got away when Steph exclaimed, "Tristan Dugrey is on line two. Are you in?" 

Rory nodded her head in affirmation, "I'll take it in my office." She thanked her one last time before she went off into her office. A modest office with a modest view. She worked hard for it and contrary to an early strain of vicious rumor, she got this with her own bare hands. It was rather surprising for Rory to find out that in this day and age, men still held an archaic believe that the only way women could gain power was through the bed sheets. But her work spoke enough volume to dispel the rumors. 

Rory stroke a comfortable pose in her chair before picking up the receiver. She didn't understand why bubbles of excitement were cursing through her. Nor did she understand why she's this anxious to pick up the phone. This never happened to her since … high school. 

"Morning." 

"Morning, Rory." Tristan's excitement was clearly audible on the other end. Then again, what else was to be expected from someone who called twice already? 

"How did you get this number?" 

"The phonebook. It has the numbers of all commercial organizations in New York City arranged in alphabetic order. Isn't it a nifty notion?" There was lightness in his tone that Rory was no doubt reciprocating. 

"You sure that's not a violation of privacy." Rory mock gasped. 

"I don't know. Maybe you should look into that for your next attention-grabbing front page headlines, Miss Gilmore." 

"Thinks for the tip." Rory picked up a pencil and fiddled with it. She does that when she's nervous. And Tristan made her nervous. Strange. "Now why don't you tell me why you are so anxious to find me, Mr. DuGrey." 

"I was not anxious." 

"Two calls before 10:00am is considered anxious in my book." 

"I just wanted to see you." 

"I have a home phone number with a voice mailbox. My casual acquaintances can reach me by leaving a message on it without going through the gossip queen of the office. Isn't it a nifty notion?" She lightly chided him but one could clearly hear from her voice the way she relished the attention. 

"I _really_ wanted to see you." 

She paused for a second before giving him a very unlikely reply, "Are you dying from terminal illness?" 

"Excuse me?" Too bad Rory couldn't see it. He actually slipped from his chair and fumbled. Even after he regained his posture, his eyebrows remained knotted in a quizzical manner. 

"That or you're insane. Either way should adequately explain your current behavior." 

"No. I'm not dying and I'm not insane." 

"You're not making your case any stronger with the way you enunciate that sentence." 

"I just thought maybe we can have lunch together." 

"Lunch?' 

"Yes." 

A brief pause of hesitation went by. "Today?" 

"Yes." 

She pretended she needed the extra minute to think about it when she had long made up her mind. "Well, I _do_ have to eat sometime. How about I'll come over. I have to do some follow-up work at that part of town in the afternoon." Maybe she shouldn't be so quick to point her finger when she was equally insane to agree to lunch on such short notice. 

"Great, we can meet at the lobby then. There's a deli around the corner. It has the best roast beef on rye in the city." This lasted with soft, almost imperceptible, juvenile excitement. 

"That's a pretty tall claim consider the sheer onslaught of delis around the city." 

"You won't say that once you've tasted it. Anyways, I'll see you later." 

"Wait a minute. Get out you pen and paper; I'm giving you my private line. The next time you _really_ want to see me, you can call this number. It even has a voice mailbox, so you can leave a message if I'm out." 

"What a nifty notion!" 

~*~*~*~ 

Five hours and an unforgettable lunch date later, Tristan found himself fixing his tie before he went towards the meeting room. He had to admit he was extremely out of character to be that impulsive. But he didn't regret it. And by the looks of it, Rory didn't regret it either. He chuckled briefly at the memory of the joke she made. Something about her experience with a hotdog vendor. 

He straightened out his lapels and took a deep breath before he stepped into the room. He had fun, but now, it's crunch time. 

A Botticelli painting had recently resurfaced in the market. It was a part of a private collection in Europe and presumed lost in the war and the subsequent looting. People were justifiably sceptical and it took a group of experts to dispel any doubt. They poured their attention all over it, eyeing every fleck of paint with scrutiny, taking advantage of the latest technologies. CAT scans, X-rays and god knows what else were taken to prove its identity. 

Now, they have to decide if they'd want it. And more importantly, could they afford the price tag. 

Tristan was, after all, only a junior curator and the Botticelli was way out of his league. He was in charge of doing the necessary researches. The rest is up to his boss. Michael would be the one to deliver the speech. He would be the one to explain why this was not the best time to make a new purchase. He would be the one to go into battle. All signs of failure or glory will be associated with Michael, not Tristan. Consider the circumstances, it was not expected, nor was it necessary, for Tristan to take it this seriously. 

It was all because of her. 

Carmen Dowling was known to take a more artistic approach to things. She held a master in Renaissance art history and if possible, she'd like to see the entire world appreciate the exquisite brushstrokes of Vermeer. Tristan was one of the few among his field to hold and MBA and he frequently applied it to his decision making process. Fortunately, he was not a scrooge, going around yelling bah–humbug into other people's faces. He recognised the subtle shades of grey between art and business. But Carmen still had trouble agreeing with him. 

They were doomed to be enemies. The board of director loved him, because he helped them stay within budget. Carmen hated him, because he often ended up compromising their artistic integrity. To her: art should never attach to dollar signs. To him: they lived in a realistic world where dollar signs involved everything, directly or indirectly. Art included. He was merely acknowledging a fact. 

He probably would've liked her if they weren't taking opposite stances. She had a head of jet-black hair and twinkling green eyes. A face that belonged to the silver screen and a mind that processed information in a phenomenal speed. She approached her life and her work with savage enthusiasm. Indeed, Tristan could've learned to like her if she didn't try to kill him every time their eyes met. Yes, she hated him _that_ much. 

During the meeting, he watched her carefully. The way she blatantly scrunched up her face whenever Michael pointed out the hidden cost of the painting. He saw her jotted down points of interest during the presentation. Just like Tristan, she didn't have to devote this much energy as a junior staff. Just like Tristan, she did. 

He paid attention to her team's presentation. They rose a few valid points and he mentally made notes. The painting, on Apollo and Daphne, was heartbreakingly beautiful. But the sheer beauty of it still couldn't justify its astronomical sum. It was too much. This came from a guy who grew up in his grandparents' terrible tasteful house furnished with small paintings by Renoir and Monet. 

No conclusion was reached by the end of the meeting. Tristan expected that. Carmen did not. 

Somewhere along the way, she had psyched herself to believe that someone would give her a solid affirmation. She, perhaps more than anyone, was determined to make it a part of the Met's permanent collection. She approached the painting with heavy-duty blinders. Just liked the way she approached Tristan with heavy-duty blinders. 

He took a deep breath. _Maybe a pot of money would appear in front of him and help unload his burden. _

He went to get a glass of water in the break room. A place where he could spend a few seconds away from the he scrutiny. Unfortunately, she soon followed. Despite all the warning bells, Tristan didn't bolt when she walked towards him. 

"What do you have against Botticelli and his work?" 

"None. He was a brilliant artist and he inspired many followers. Myself included." He looked right into her eyes. No sign of backing up from her intimidating glare. 

"Then why wouldn't you agree to the purchase?" He could hear the smidgen of accusing tone. Wars were fought for less reason than that. But He tried to display a calm facade. 

"I believe it is a financially reckless move." It was a clear-cut, rational answer. If somebody else said that, she would've backed down and let it go. But it's _not_ somebody else. 

"Is it possible for you to stop approaching art without a calculator at hand?" 

"No. That's the way I'm trained and that's the reason why I'm hired. I'm able to observe the same object as you do under a different filter. I provide the second opinion and whether you like it or not, it is still a valid opinion." His volume raised along a steady crescendo as he spoke. Tristan was sick of it. He was sick of Carmen's tone. He was sick of the way she made him ashamed of doing his job. 

"But this is not the best place for you to assign nominal values to objects. For heaven's sake when we talk about Raphael and Michelangelo, we're not talking about the teenage mutant ninja turtles. I'm not questioning your training, but it is not entirely an absurd notion to think that your MBA may not fit well into this organization. Maybe your talents will be better appreciated in you Daddy's company." Tristan grimaced. That was a low blow. 

"As much as you hate to admit it, this organization needs me. You all allow your reverence to old masters cloud your judgement. The world is full of treasures, Carmen, and we can't just acquire _all_ of them without considering the consequences!" 

"The only consequence we're dealing with here is seeing our history, the history of mankind, drifting off before our eyes. All because somebody like _you_ stopped caring!" 

"Look. I care. I care just as much as every single person in this office. But, we're dealing with a zero sum game here. How much you take from the pot depends on how much is available in the pot. By getting that Botticelli, we're sacrificing the budget for various restoration projects. By giving in to one, you take away from another." 

A small crowd had steadily precipitated around them. Few winced at the words they toss out, some took sides, most chalked it up as part of the blood feud between the two. All of them saw it a part of their daily ritual. A day was not complete without the sight of them lunging at each other's throat. There's an almost rhythmic quality to it. 

Kevin finally had enough of it and stepped between them. Today's fight was more intense than its predecessors. Call him crazy, but he did not look forward to cleaning out the blood splatter once the two killed each other. 

"You two, calm down. It is not up to us to decide the fate of the painting. Each of you provided a strong case backed by facts. The rest of the decision process will be determined by someone above the glass ceiling." There was something about his delivery that command their attention. 

"We're just presenting our point of view. There is nothing wrong with that." Carmen protested weakly. 

"You're right. But you're done presenting your point of view in the meeting, behind those doors. Don't need to extend it beyond professional capacity." The last sentence was especially for Carmen. 

"But …" 

"I know the two of you are extremely devoted to your job." Kevin cast them a look that stopped them from rebuking his comment. "But enough is enough. Let's call it a day." 

Carmen started walking away, but not without letting out an audible huff to display her irritation. She headed towards her office, smashing her stilettos against the floor with every step she took as if she's channelling all her rage against the carpet. The crowd dissipated once they realised show's over. 

Kevin felt like he should stay behind to dispense soothing advice to an obviously dejected Tristan. But he failed to find the proper words. After patting Tristan's back in what he hoped to be a comforting manner, he too, left for his office. 

Tristan was left standing. Alone. 

~*~*~*~ 

The rest of the day went along without a hitch. No more bickering were heard between the two. 

That evening, Kevin managed to slide past the closing elevator doors on his way home. He was surprised to find Carmen there. Upon seeing it's him, she replaced her masked expression with a cordial smile. A smile that reminded him the she's only 28. A girl that had yet to see the world or acquire the tolerance for opposition. He always wondered why she had to carry that mask around. Especially around DuGrey. 

He finally broke the silence, "It had been three months Carmen. Why can't you accept him?" Both knew whom he was referring to. 

"I just don't like his approach to things." Her voice was steady, almost monotonous. 

"Why? Carmen, he's doing his job. I'm not taking sides, but he was right. He and his colleagues are just following their job description. That means keeping everyone on track and no impulse purchases. Besides, it's not as if the Botticelli would miraculously dissolve if we don't pick it up. I hear The National Gallery is interested." He looked at her intently. "Don't make this a personal vendetta" 

"Kevin, I'm not carrying out a personal vendetta. I was merely …" The elevator chime interrupted her. 

"Don't hate him because he replaced Ryan." He took off, leaving Carmen alone in the elevator to mull over his final remark. 


	5. Good Afternoon, How May I Help You?

I apologise for the sparse updates. And now that a new semester had kicked in, this is only getting worse. Unfortunately, I have to allocate more of my energy towards the fascinating world of biology. All creativity will be wasted on an 8-page proposal detailing on why people should stop fishing beluga sturgeons (I'm not kidding). So don't fret when you don't see any updates soon (or in the next 4 months). Although fic-writing is time consuming, I still need it to keep me sane. Don't worry, I won't give this up … in the foreseeable future. 

Disclaimer: I wish I own all GG characters. This way, I can do _whatever_ I want with HA. Or I can just do … right … underage kids around. I'll shut up now. 

**

Metamorphoses

**

**05 ~ Good Afternoon, How May I Help You?**

The phone was ringing. 

To the many occupants of this office it was not that big of a deal. Given that this was The New York Times office, it was neither surprising nor new to hear multiple phones ringing simultaneously in unison. She fielded a few dozen phone calls in this very office everyday. Rory would start worrying when the day came and her phone stopped shrieking for her attention. For now, she chalked it up to normality when the phone interrupted her creative thought process. _Again_. 

But this one was different. 

A spark flashed through her head. A warm fuzzy feeling travelled along her body before she reached for the phone. Familiarity. Instant recognition. Premonition. Call it whatever you want. Rory instinctively knew who's on the other end before she picked up the phone. 

"Good afternoon, Rory Gilmore speaking." 

"Hey babe, you got anything planned for this Friday?" The familiar voice asked. 

"I have a hot date." 

"Translation: you are going to binge on Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia while watching the Alias DVD I got you. The closest this could be to a hot date would be you salivating at the sight of David Anders." Lorelai chimed up. 

She laughed at her mother's accuracy. Rory was wondering when her mother was going to call her. Lorelai didn't call last night like she usually would. 

Rory missed her mother. She really did. She missed the way her upbeat humour could save the day. She missed the way her mother would perk up at the scent of Luke's coffee. She missed Sunday night movies. Of course, they still continued the Sunday night movie tradition. But this was a different version. Instead of interjecting snarky commentary while throwing popcorn at each other, the only way they could do it now was over the phone. 

"You got a better suggestion?" 

"Come with me to Friday night dinner." 

Unlike her mother, Rory was no longer obligated to go to Friday night dinners once she moved to New York. She still showed up occasionally, but that's on a volunteer basis. Her grandmother implemented the new dinner arrangement after the time she nearly fell asleep on her way over. She thought it would be far too dangerous for her to drive after a gruelling day at work. Upon such stellar example, Lorelai briefly flirted with the idea of moving out along with Rory. She reconsidered once Rory vehemently reminded her of her job and her life in Stars Hollow. 

"What did you do this time?" 

"Nothing." Lorelai used her innocent voice hoping to fool her daughter. But to Rory, she was basically broadcasting the fact that she ticked off Emily … again. She seemed to have penchant for that. 

"Yeah right." She rolled her eyes. 

"Fine. I said something." Now Rory was intrigued. She had to give her grandparents some credit for this. After more than 10 years of Friday night dinners, they pretty much accustomed to Lorelai's crazy antics and developed a fairly high tolerance for it. It took a lot more to tick off Emily than it did 10 years ago. Of course, that never stopped Lorelai from giving out repeat performances. 

"Uh huh. Go on." 

"I was telling them a particularly engaging story about Kirk and the time he got high on lemonades during the Spring Fling. Then bam! Out of nowhere, I started using Luke's nickname …" 

"Butch?" Rory interrupted. 

"No." 

"Flannel boy?" 

"Nope, think worse." 

"Trekkie?" 

"Nope. But great idea, I'll used that to annoy Luke the next time I see him." 

"Flannel-burger boy?" 

Lorelai scoffed. "Now, I'm offended. I can certainly come up with something much more creative than flannel-burger boy." 

"I can't think of anything else." 

"NDG." 

"Good Lord! You called your boyfriend naked diner guy in front of your parents?" Rory was mortified. 

"Well, I used the abbreviated form, and I thought she would miss it." 

"Grandma has good ears." 

"_Now_ I know. Then she started asking me to explain the meaning of NDG. And she did it with that evil glare thing that made my right eye twitch like a metronome. I got scared and in my sordid attempt to change the topic, I started talking about Dick Clark and the robotic qualities in him which totally tipped off my parents because it's nowhere near New Years and they stopped showing reruns of _American Bandstand_ like five years ago." She managed all of that without breathing. 

"That's terrible!" 

"Yeah. It prompted the Spanish Inquisition. I swear, Jed Bartlet had an easier time during his question periods than I did with my mother. It kept going and going … like a Springsteen concert." 

"Or the energizer bunny." 

"Either way, I managed to field off the question session and ran out of the house without telling my parents what exactly does NDG stand for. But I can't do that again and I'll put down a good amount of cash to bet that Emily will resume the conversation where it left off. Please come with me this Friday, I don't want to do that again … alone!" She pleaded. 

"Misery likes company." Rory pouted. 

She hadn't been to her grandparents' place for nearly a month now and she could use some of their unrelenting support. But she didn't look forward to another night of dodging her grandmother's kind-hearted inquiry towards her living arrangement. Emily still didn't know about Jess, and Rory was not in a hurry to correct her perception. 

But she did sympathize with her mother. 

"Seriously though, mom, can you ever go to a Friday night dinner without putting your foot into your mouth?" 

"That's like asking if Adam Sandler is capable of making good movies." 

"He was pretty good in _Punch-Drink Love_." 

"But after stunning Ebert and Roeper into giving him a two thumbs up, he went on to release _Eight Crazy Nights_ which was a painful as jabbing your eye with a blunt pencil while somebody played _Chopsticks_ in the background. And don't even get me started on his later movies. They made _Big Daddy_ looked like a Palme d'Or candidate." 

"Why are you comparing yourself to Adam Sandler? And of all people, why Adam Sandler?" 

"Watched _The Wedding Singer_ again." Lorelai stuttered before she realized Rory was laughing at her choice of entertainment. She huffed, "That's not the point. My point is, it is certainly possible for me to keep my foot away from my mouth, but it won't last long. Just like Mr. Sandler and his dismal track record when it comes to quality movies." 

"Fine. I'll go to Friday night dinner with you." Her mother was right when she predicted that she had nothing better to do. Maybe this time she'd have enough courage to tell her grandparents the truth. 

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank. You." Lorelai squealed in delight. Rory had to hold the phone away from her ear for the sake of her eardrums. She could imagine Lorelai doing the happy dance behind the concierge's desk much to Michel's dismay. 

"But seriously can't you do better than Dick Clark?" She couldn't help but tease. 

"You're spoiling my happy dance moment." Lorelai pouted. "Michel is freaking out at the valet again. I better do some damage control before he quits. I'll see you on Friday then." 

"See ya." 

Once she hung up, Rory picked up the pencil and started writing again. She continued to work on her article, translating complex visuals and emotions into elegant strings of words. The pencil rubbed against the foolscap at lightening speed, struggling to write down her thoughts as quickly as she created them. It's the most primitive way of writing and Rory liked it that way. She never got the hang of typing out rough drafts. It felt impersonal. 

After an hour of frantic writing, Rory finally finished her article. It was still in its preliminary from and it could use a few improvements here and there, nonetheless, she got the framework down. She decided now was a good time to refill her coffee mug. 

Office coffee wasn't the best kind of coffee in the world. On good days, somebody would leave the pot empty, forcing the next person to wait around for a fresh pot. On bad days, somebody would leave it on the counter, effectively cooling it down and allowing it to acquire an odour that didn't belong to coffee. But there's one good thing about office coffee. It's super strong. Strong enough that it should came with it's own surgeon general's warning. 

Today was a good day. 

In the break room, Rory found Scott staring intently at the droplets of coffee squeezing through the machine. The droplets travelled down into the pot and accumulated into a clear brown pool. 

"A watched pot never boils." She quietly snuck up behind her co-worker. 

"Hey Rory." He looked up at the sound of the comment. But he quickly focused his attention back on the coffee machine. 

She always thought she had an unhealthy addiction when it came to caffeine. It wasn't until she started working here did she realised that there were people in the world who craved coffee with more urgency than her and Lorelai combined. Scott was one of those people. Rory once caught him squinting at the machine. He managed to give his explanation with a straight face when she confronted him about it. It turned out that he was attempting to use telepathy to speed up the water molecules between the coffee grinds so his coffee would be ready sooner. 

Even Lorelai wouldn't go that far. 

"Hey Scott. Did you hear anything about the new photographer?" 

"You meant Joanna LeClavier. I believe she's out on an assignment with Janet." He straightened himself but a fraction of his attention still remained on the coffee. 

"How's she like?" 

"Professional. I heard from Steph that she interned at the National Geographic. Beautiful portfolio." 

"But what does she look like, features wise. Just so I won't accidentally call the securities when I found a stranger around the office." 

"Tall, brown hair, green eyes. Young. She got that I-can-conquer-the-world look in her eyes. The usual." The machine finally stuttered to a complete halt. He snatched the pot out and filled their mugs. Little splotches of brown liquid danced onto his sleeves. 

"Didn't we all use to have that look." She sighed at the memories as she dumped a packet of sugar into her coffee. Not that she had lost all hope in journalism, but being a part of it had certainly chipped away some of the mystique and expectations. Things were always more glorified when you're on the other side of the fence. 

"I remember that. Good times, good times." He nodded in acknowledgement. 

"Too bad we lost some of that naïveté." 

"Somewhere around the third month of working here. Welcome to the real world. Let's hope this one won't run away crying like her predecessor." Scott delivered the line with a twinkle in the corner of his eyes. He poured the rest of the coffee in the cup before he left. "Good luck on your article." 

Rory remembered to brew a fresh pot before she retreated from the break room. She walked towards her office with and uneasy feeling in her stomach. That conversation with Scott left her oddly unsatisfied. _When did she become such a pessimist?_

~*~*~*~

The phoned rang again. 

Just like earlier that day, the similar wheels and gears in her head click into place. The same thought process took place again. It's a strange feeling, like she could _sense_ who's on the other end. She chuckled at the thought. If this continued, maybe she could save the company some money by forgoing the caller ID. She really had no need for it. 

But this was not the same person as before. 

"Good afternoon, Rory Gilmore speaking." 

"Yo, it's me." 

"I _know _it's you." She said with a knowing smile. 

"How's work?" 

_At this rate, I'm going to spend the rest of the day taking phone calls instead of finishing my article before the deadline_. But she didn't say what's on her mind. She simply replied, "Stressful at best." She paused for a brief second before switching to quizzical enthusiasm. "Where are you calling from?" 

"Home." 

"Home? As in New York City, _our_ home?" She asked, startled. 

"Yep." Jess yawned. 

"But I thought you won't be back until the weekend." 

"Me too. The crew wrapped up a few days earlier than projected and I absolutely refused to spend more time over there than I have to. No offence, charming country, but I just really wanted to come home." 

"You traded your tickets?" 

"Yep. 31 hours and 5 connecting flights later, I'm home." He couldn't help but yawn again. All that travelling was draining away his energy at an alarming rate. 

"31 hours!" Rory gasped at the thought. 

"Well, not all of the time was spent on a plane packed like sardines in a crushed can. A significant amount of time was spent at the waiting lounge. What is it with airport bookstores and their unhealthy obsession with John Grisham? I ran out of reading material and I was forced to buy one of his books out of desperation." His tone was that of bemusement. 

"You poor thing." She sympathized. She wanted to hear more about his trip, but stacks of paper reminded her of her impending deadline. "Hey, I still have work to finish, why don't you tell me all your stories over dinner." 

"Sure. I think I should catch a nap between now and then." He yawned again. 

"Do you want to eat out or order in?" 

"Let's go out." 

"How about The Plant. Go take a nap, I'll see you there after work." 

"Sure thing." Rory was about to hang up the phone when Jess added. "Wait a minute, please be more specific than 'after work'. Last time you said that, it resulted in me waiting 2 hours for you to show up. I hate to tell you this, but you have workaholic tendencies." Jess said the last part in stage whisper, as if he's divulging a secret rather than stating a fact. 

She laughed it off. "I promise I'll be there at 7:30. Now get some rest before you collapse. You sound terrible." She was telling the truth. 

"Thanks." He answered wearily, "I'll see you later then." 

~*~*~*~

Rory was polishing up the last sentence of her article when her editor stumbled into her office. A girl, who she presumed to be Joanna LeClavier, followed closely behind. Scott's depiction was pretty close to the truth. But there's more to her eyes than the mandatory I-can-conquer-the-world look replicated by many newcomers. It was much more than that. The expression in her eyes walked the fine line between confidence and arrogance. 

"How's the article coming along?" 

"I still need to type it up." She took off her glasses and gently set it on her desk. 

"Good." He nodded in approval. Tim turned towards the person that's standing behind him. "Here's somebody I'd like you to meet. This is Rory Gilmore. Short listed for the Pulitzer once, one of the brightest young stars in this organization." 

Tim introduced her with a proud voice normally reserved by a mentor for a prized student. He liked her because of her professional work ethics. Assignments were always completed at least a day before the deadline, never complained about her work schedule, never a cause for worries or headaches. 

"Hi. Joanna LeClavier. Majored in anthropology in Vassar." She shook Rory's hand in a firm and assertive manner. 

She noticed that Joanna didn't wait for Tim to introduce her. Rory had a feeling that this was her approach to life as well. She didn't seem like the kind of person that would wait in the backbenches. She looked, and sounded, like the kind of person that would jump onto opportunities. 

"I still have to introduce her to a few more people before the end of the day. Don't worry, you'll get the chance to get acquainted with each other. I might have an assignment for the two of you later this week." Tim added before he left her office with Joanna following closely behind. 

Rory put her glasses back on and allowed a few stray thoughts lingered on the new photographer. She admitted that she's no psychology major, but Rory saw enough of Joanna to make a few crude observations. She's the kind of person that would eventually get whatever she wanted. No matter how hard it would be. 

It's best not to have her as an enemy. 

~*~*~*~

After that, the day went by unusually fast and uneventful. Rory found herself at The Plant in no time. 

The Plant was actually short for The Old Power Plant. It was not an eating establishment that one could put in any category. It's neither a restaurant nor a diner. It's something in between. Some might venture to call it a pub, but Jess wasn't sure on that either. One thing for sure, it sure as hell wasn't a power plant. The old engine and various paraphernalia on the wall might give it an atmosphere that matched its name, but it was never more than that. 

Just like any night, The Plant was bustling with rambunctious energy. People were there to unwind and trade war stories after a solid day of work. Rory instinctively approached the secluded corner in the back. A place quiet enough that people didn't need to raise their voice in order to be heard. As expected, Jess was seated at a table already. _Their table_. 

They may be the last people to admit it, but they spend more time eating here than they do at home. There was something attractive about the turbine parts and old pictures that transported them back in time. Twice a week, there's a live jazz quartet, playing old favourites by Sarah Vaughn and Nat King Cole. With the cheap pints, good food and live music, it was no wonder why Jess and Rory spent a majority of their time here. 

Rory was bringing him up to speed with her life when the waitress set down the food before them. 

"You know what I missed most while I was away?" He asked as he pulled out the pickles from his burger. 

"My dashing sense of humour and brilliant social commentary." She replied matter-of-factly as she snatched the pickles from Jess's plate. 

"No. I was going to say The Plant." Rory gasped at his response and threw a fry at him. " … and of course I missed you too … sure …" He surrendered the last part when a flurry of fries were aimed at his direction. He leaned forward to pinch her pouting face, "Hey, I was away in a remote corner of a foreign country, cut me some slack." 

"Fine." 

"But honestly," He took a sip of beer, "I _do_ miss you." 

"Me too, kiddo. How's Thailand?" 

"Cool. The crew and I were exploring the streets of Bangkok during down time and we came across this record store tucked away in an alley. You cannot believe what I found there." 

"Bootleg Pink Floyd?" 

"Actually, I think I saw a copy of The Wall in there with questionable legitimacy. But that's not what I'm talking about." He paused for dramatic effect. "I found _The Empire Strikes Back_ on vinyl." 

"_The Empire Strikes Back_." 

"Yep." 

"The greatest episode in the entire _Star Wars_ saga." 

"Yep." 

"The one where Princess Leia declared her love to a stuck up, half-witted, scruffy-looking nerd-header Hans Solo and all he said was I know." 

"Yep." 

"And it's on vinyl." 

"Just the way Mr. Lucas intended it to be. It also came with a picture storybook in Technicolor. You can follow along if you like." 

"I've gotta see this!" 

He chuckled. "Maybe this is the beginning of the collector's edition vinyl box set with special behind-the-scenes footage of Carrie Fisher and Harrison Ford! Who needs DVDs." He stuffed his mouth with what's left of the burger and washed it down with the beer. "So that's the most exciting aspect of my trip, what about you?" 

"I did an article on how kids lost their childhood when parents got all paranoid over playground safety." She took another bite off her burger. 

"My story is better." 

"Hands down." Rory admitted. 

"Quick question. What did you do to my room?" He asked between bites of onion rings. He didn't sound happy at all. 

"Nothing." She tried her innocent voice. 

"Rory, I have curtains with an pattern so ugly that it looked like a bunch of flowers had seizures and puked on it! Now I confess, I might not have spent an astounding amount of time in that room lately, or in this country for that matter. But I'm sure it didn't have anything that resembles the Von Trapp family curtains in my room when I last saw it" 

"Mom brought it over while you're away. Apparently, she got the idea from _Trading Space_ and thought it'd look better than the blinds you had. I have to admit it's not her best work. No doubt the product of severe dehydration brought on by the excessive drooling over Ty." 

"Next time I leave town, my room will be off-limits to your mother. I don't want her to redecorate my room with snow globes." 

"Too _Citizen Kane_?" 

"Terribly." 

She stole an onion ring from Jess's plate before changing the topic. "So when are you going to leave for your next trip?" 

"Sometime next month. Maybe earlier than that, maybe later than that. It all depends on how soon I finish the write-up and if they like it enough to print it. I hear that they're planning on a tour book concentrating only on extreme sports around the world. If that works out, someone will pay me to go heliskiing in the Alps. It's like a dream come true." His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. The kind of enthusiasm displayed by little kids in a candy store. 

"Sound dangerously fun. You sound like you actually like this job." She observed. 

"I know. Scary, huh? I guess I paid my dues with ten years of shitty b-rate service industry jobs where I cater to the whims of short-tempered customers. Finally, karma is on my side and I'm rewarded with a job that I actually enjoy." 

"Good for you. You earned it." 

"Enough about my oddly satisfying job. How about you? Still seeing Phillippe?" 

"My god, it's been a month and a half and you're nicknaming him already!" Rory squeaked out a mild protest. 

"We do that to people all the time. Remember how we used to call Kirk Ralph Wiggum behind his back." 

"No. _You _used to call Kirk Ralph Wiggum." Rory corrected him. "_I_ used to call him Kirk." 

"True. You were always the paragon of virtue. Anyways, back on topic. Are you still seeing DuGrey?" 

Rory tipped her head sideways and fidgeted with a piece of hair. "Yeah. I'm still seeing him." Maybe it's the beer, maybe it's the atmosphere, but Jess thought he saw her blushed. 

"So is he for real?" 

"I think so. It's nice spending time with a person that already knew you." She replied softly. 

She left out the part where they always had brunch on Saturdays in this charming little café. The first person there will get the table and order for the both of them. Waffles and extra pulp orange juice for him; French toast and extra strong coffee for her. There's something comfortably routine about it. _Just like what she and Jess was having right now. _

"What about the part about him being a player and all?" 

"I thought about it and I decided to give him a chance. I don't think it's fair a judge a person by what he did 10 years ago, especially what he did when he was 16. I mean, we both did some crazy stuff when we're teenagers." She gulped down the rest of her drink. "He probably left his former life behind. I think he's entitled to the benefit of the doubt." 

"What if he continues his old habit?" 

"I'll stop seeing him, simple as that. Look, maybe I'm overlooking his flaws, maybe he's very good at hiding his real nature, either way, I couldn't find a legit reason to not go out with him." She rationalised. "And honestly speaking, I'm having a good time." 

"I can see that." Jess admitted. 

Rory was too busy flagging down the waitress to get her another drink. But if she paid attention to her dinner companion, she would notice the way his voice toned down. If she paid attention, she would notice the mixture of sorrow, pain and disappointment that flashed across his eyes. He quickly recovered his easy-going voice and offered the congratulatory smile to his roommate. 

Rory could be infuriatingly clueless sometimes. 


	6. Wait a minute, which one is which?

The pairing for now is trory.  But that doesn't mean it will stay this way forever.  Actually, I have no idea who will end up with who because I have yet to figure out the details.  So, stop asking.  I don't have the answer!  Officially, I'm following the show up till A Deep-Dried Korean Thanksgiving.  That is not to say I won't incorporate facts from later episode for the purpose of my personal enjoyment.  The only logic behind this decision is that Jess in the following episodes doesn't really fit the tone of this fic.  Yes, skimpy logic.  Thanks for pointing that out.  

Dedication:  To my wondrous partner in crime, Reeka.  Sorry, still no pirates.   

Disclaimer:  This is not, I repeat, this is not written by anyone affiliated to the Gilmore Girls staff or WB.  Even though there might only be six degrees of separation between them and me.  That still doesn't mean I own the characters or have control over Daniel Palladino's writing.  

**

Metamorphoses

**

**06 ~ Wait a minute, which one is which?**

Rory hugged her trench coat closer to her body as a gust of wind whipped across her face.  She could feel her chandelier earrings swayed along with the wind.  A stray piece of gum wrapper crossed her path as it danced along with the wind.  Just like a tumbleweed in every cliché western movie.  For a brief second, Rory wondered why Chicago, instead of New York City, was nicknamed the Windy City.  

She was bored out of her mind and she started studying the dark splotches on the pavement.  Somebody once told her those were dried out gum.  But Rory couldn't wrap her mind around that.  Those ugly black circles were once pastel pink and blue and came in different flavors?  Yeah right.  Regardless of its origin, it did provide a stimulating game of connect-the-dots while she was stuck in this weather.  

The chilling wind sent shivers down her spine.  She just hugged her coat a little tighter.

Rory looked at her watch again as she circled in front of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.  7:30.  Tristan was at least 15 minutes late.  Seeing that Tristan was never late before, she was more worried than irritated.  She wanted to wait a little longer before calling him.  But this wind was getting on her nerves and it's interfering with her rational thought process.  She finally gave in and called his office.   

"Hey Tristan, it's me, Rory."  

"Hey.  What's up?"

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else?"  Namely, right next to her and _not_ in his office. 

"Am I?"  He asked quizzically.  Rory could hear the shuffling of papers in the background.  

"We're supposed to grab dinner together.  You even told me to wait for you outside the main entrance of the Met.  Remember?"  She hid behind the majestic columns in a weak attempt to avoid the wind.  

"Yeah.  But I thought I'm going to meet you at 7 o'clock."

"Yes you are."

"It's only 6:30 right now."    

"No.  It's 7:30."  Rory corrected him.  Then she remembered the story he told her some time ago.  "Did you forget to wind you watch again?"

"Oh my god, it _is_ 7:30!  You've been waiting for 30 minutes?  Why didn't you call earlier?"  His voice brimmed with concern and empathy.  Suddenly, the wind didn't seem to bother her that much anymore.  

"I thought you needed time to finish up some loose ends."  She replied softly.  

"Well, I do have a little bit of paper work to finish up.  Hey why don't you come up, I'll tell Claude to let you in."  

"I'll see you in a few then."  For a brief moment there, Rory wondered if Claude was the name of the security guy that's been casting her suspicious glance ever since she was here.  Guess Claude wasn't a big fan of connect-the-splotches.  Too bad, cause Rory thought she found the constellation Orion somewhere on the ground.  

~*~*~*~

She slowly went through the directions Tristan gave her earlier.  The way he described it, she thought his office was located in King Mino's labyrinth.  But in fact, it was much easier than she expected.  All she had to do was follow the lonely light emitting from his office.  On her way there, she came across a dark-haired girl.  Rory offered a cordial smile but once the girl saw where she's heading, she turn decidedly hostile.  As if Tristan was a plague in her life.  Rory shrugged it off and chalked it up to regular office politics.  

Rory poked her head into his office.  "So this is where you work."  She glided in, casually observing her surroundings.  A humble window offered a portal to the outside world.  Little green and red volumes of Loeb Classical Library neatly nestled in the bookcase.  Latin on the right, Greek on the left.  All lined up in chronological order.  Neat.  

"I'm sorry.  This place is a complete utter mess."  Tristan looked from his work and offered an apologetic smile.  His desk, however, was the exact opposite of his bookcase.  He coaxed a stack of papers into a folder, hoping it might remedy the situation. 

"I've seen worse.  You should see my office before a deadline.  Straight from the set of _Twister_."  She replied casually as she leaned over his desk.  "What?  No family pictures?"

"I used to have a few of them.  But then I kept knocking them over to the floor."  He answered ruefully.  

"I had the same problem until I got my hands on a roll of double-sided tape."  She offered while playing with a paperweight she found balancing perilously on the corner of his desk.  "Hey, did you happen to tick off anybody while working here?  Some girl was giving me the stink-eye on my way here"

"You must mean Carmen.  She's always mad at me one way or another.  I still have no idea why she has a bone to pick with me."  For a moment there, he was reminded of their argument du jour.  Tristan softened up once he chased away those thoughts.  "Come over here, I have something for you."

When she walked over to his side of the desk, she noticed a pen lying innocently on the floor.  Tristan must've knocked it over while working amidst this chaos.  In some way, this was like her office.  Papers and odd stationary strewn haphazardly around, writing utensils hiding beneath stacks of paperwork, never there when they were needed.  She picked the pen up and placed it gently on top of a stack of paper.  Rory didn't give it much more thought.  

She saw Tristan conducting a scavenger hunt in his drawer before he finally pulled out what he's looking for.  It's a little silver pin with the Met's logo engraved on it.  It sparkled with life underneath the light.  She never knew a simple pin could look this good.  Tristan held onto her lapels and gently pulled her closer to him.  Rory took a deep breath as Tristan fastened the pin on her coat.  

"And here I thought the gift shop is closed for the day." 

"Do you like it?"

"I'll never take this off."  She ran her finger lovingly over the smooth surface, leaving partial rings of fingerprint on it.  "I feel like I should give you something in return.  Hmmm, I think I can offer you a piece of gum."  She dug her hands deep into her coat pockets.  

Tristan watched her in bemusement.  The way she concentrated her attention on the little details.  The way she made every little gestures endearing to him.  They all reminded him why he was obsessed with her over all these years.  Ten years.  And it's all worth it.  

Rory finally stopped digging and looked up.  "Okay, so all I have is a gum wrapper.  But, it used to be a cherry gum wrapper so it still smells really nice, very fruity.  Unless you're not a big fan of cherry gum, then this isn't … "

He put a finger over her lips and stopped her in the middle of her rambling.  To be honest, he didn't care about the gum, or the gum wrapper for that matter.  There was only one thing he wanted to do.  Tristan lightly cupped her face and slowly brought her face closer to his.  She looked straight into his eyes and saw the intensity of his stare, mirroring her own intent gaze.  She finally succumbed to the inevitable kiss.  

What started out as a gentle kiss slowly intensified to nothing they've ever had before.  He could feel her lightly nibbling on his lower lips while he ran his fingers along the small of her back.  Rory found herself stroking the back of his neck and realized his hair was soft to the touch.  As nice to touch as kitten's fur.  Tristan wished they could stay this way forever but they finally had to come up for air.  Their foreheads touching, his heavy breathing caressed her cheeks.  

"I guess we're even now."  Rory realized that this wasn't the smartest thing that ever came out of her mouth.  But her brain circuits were sufficiently fried.

"Well, I actually have a favor to ask you."

"So there's an ulterior motive."  

"I'm a DuGrey.  There's _always_ an ulterior motive."  He winked at her.  "What's your plan for Thursday?"

"Thursday is John Hughes night at our place.  We're supposed to watch _Pretty in Pink_ this week."

"Big fan of Andie Walsh?"

"Jess is.  He once wrote on the Molly Ringwald cycle of John Hughes for film studies."  Then she remembered the pinkie swear that they made.  "But for the record, I didn't tell you that."

"I'll try to keep a secret."  But then he turned serious, "Is it possible for you to postpone the John Hughes film festival for a week?"

"Tell me what you have in mind and I'll think about it."  

The history of John Hughes night went all the way back when they were teenagers.  Though it got discontinued a few times out of necessity as they lived in separate cities, they always resumed it whenever they could.  That was one ritual that they never grew out of.  

If she ever postponed this, she better had a damn good reason.  Something along the lines of her being stranded in a tropical locale, outwitting other people for a million dollars.  

"My brother is launching his new magazine this week.  There's suppose to be this big party and everyone who's anyone will be there.  Seeing that he's my brother, I have to make the mandatory appearance."  He took a deep breath to gather his courage.  "I'm wondering if you'll be my plus one."

"So that's for next Thursday?"

"No.  This Thursday."

"And yet you waited till today to ask me."

Tristan apologized, "I'm sorry for asking you in such short notice.  It totally slipped my mind.  If his secretary didn't call me this afternoon, I would've forgotten about this whole thing all together."  He saw the hesitation that darted across her eyes.  "So?  Will you come with me?  He ordered a ton of cute cupcakes from Cupcake Café."  He threw in the last part as an incentive.  And incentive that he knew Rory couldn't resist.  

"Kiss me again and I'll think about it."  Her mischievous grin spread all the way to the corner of her eyes.  

He gave her a brilliant smile and leaned in.  Somehow, Tristan knew that she'd made up her mind already.  

~*~*~*~

"Whoa, whoa, whoa.  You want me to do what?"  Jess asked incredulously.  He stared at her like she was one taco short of a combination plate.  

"I need you to call me at around 9:30."  

Rory surveyed herself in front of the mirror one more time.  She bought this dress a month ago during an irresistible sale and never had the right occasion for it.  Since the dress was 300 percent off, she never considered its practical function when she handed over her American Express.  Rory smiled wryly.  Lorelai's shopping habit was getting contagious.  She tugged at the hemline again.  This dress didn't fit as well as she remembered.  Maybe she gained a few pounds between then and now.  

As if he could read her mind, Jess offered, "No, you're not fat.  But I think you should really lay off the pecan pralines from now on."  

Rory responded to his wise-ass comment by pushing him off her bed.  But she wasn't mad or anything.  She knew he was in no risk of acquiring some of Luke's Mr. Nutrition stance and he was just joking.  This was what exactly their relationship was based on.  Intimate understanding of each other's little quirks and the ability to make fun of them.  

This was different than the kind of rapport between Tristan and her.  

She stuck her tongue out at him while he crawled back up.  "So why should I call you at 9:30?"

"Just in case the party is a major snoozer, I have an escape plan."  She held up a thick garnet bracelet and a chunky silver bangle, undecided on which to wear. 

"How is this an escape plan?  You have to curb your obsession with _O Brother, Where Art Thou?_"  Jess pointed at the bangle and Rory tried it on.  She waved her arm in front of him for further approval.  

"I can say maybe you broke your leg or something else that requires my immediately attention and therefore my absence from boring, stuffy social obligations."

"So you mean when my dates get a phone call in the middle of a conversation and say they have to go home to save the cat from a tree …"

"They're desperate to get away from you."  She pretended to give this a serious thought, "Actually that's not a bad excuse.  Maybe we should use that."

"That's a terrible excuse!  Also, you don't have a cat, so you might as well scrap the I-need-to-go-home-and-feed-the-cat excuse while you're at it."  He balked at her.  "Anyways, I still can't do it on account that I too have a date tonight."

"You're dating?"  It's now Rory's turn to sound surprised.  It was not as if she expected him to be celibate after they've broken up.  Heck, she even saw him out on casual dates back in Stars Hollow.  But none of them last and she thought he'd be single for life.  The fact that he didn't seem to be interested in anyone ever since he moved in with her only served to confirm her speculation.  Apparently, she stood corrected.

"Yep.  Matt set me up with this girl."  Matthew Lombardi was Jess's childhood friend.  From the stories that Jess told her, they used to set up trashcans and perform intricate jumps with their skateboards.  Most of those stories ended with, "that's how I got 15 stitches here."  The boys grew out of their old habit.  But they still got together twice a week for a friendly game of 3-on-3 basketball whenever Jess was in town.  She saw him a few times.  

"What does she look like?"  So Jess is having a date.  Big.  Deal.  She had been telling him that he needed to get out more.  But she was still more curious than she should be.  __

"I have no idea.  It's a blind date."  He didn't seem to pay too much attention to it.  In fact, he didn't seem to care about it altogether.  

"Never saw you as a blind date kinda guy."

"There's always a first time for everything."  Jess flipped through her CD collection, pretending to not give his current situation much more thought.  "Hey when did you get this Propagandhi CD?"

"A while back."  Sensing Jess's wish to change topic, she went along with it.  "You can take it if you want."

Jess plucked out the CD along with a few vintage Rolling Stones.  "I guess I should start dressing up also.  I'm suppose to meet her in half an hour."  He started towards the door.    

Before he left, Rory reminded him, "Have fun.  And don't forget to wear matching socks.  Chicks dig that."

~*~*~*~

Tristan expertly eased his sleek German sedan in front of the resplendent Waldorf-Astoria, remnants of Duke Ellington's voice resonated in the car as he turned off the engine.  He leaned back against his seat and let out an audible sigh, "Last chance to run.  Maybe we should skip this and go to Cafeteria instead."

"Are you telling me you're going to ditch your brother on his big day?  Shame on you!"  She said with a mock frown.  "Besides, we're not dressed for Cafeteria."

He took a look at the both of them and reluctantly agreed.  "It's just I haven't been to one of these events for a while.  All they talk about is who's getting a new car or who's getting botox.  I'm not sure if you know this, but rich people suck at making small talk."

"Lighten up, I'm sure you'll do fine.  The sooner we go in, the sooner we leave."  She offered weakly before they stepped out of the car.  A uniformed valet approached them.  Tristan tossed the keys to him in a single fluid motion.  

She knew Tristan didn't enjoy or attend these big society functions as often as his family name implied.  Unlike the people they'd meet, he had an honest 9-to-5 job and spent most of his night in front of the TV rather than socializing at a fundraiser.  But inconspicuous gestures like that betrayed his upbringing.  Tristan DuGrey belonged to the upper crust.  And nothing could disguise that fact.  

"What's the name of the magazine again?"  She rested her hand on the crook of his arm.  The wind wasn't as strong as a couple days ago, but it still managed to give her the chills as it grazed her ankles.  Rory snuggled closer for warmth.  

"Panoptes.  Short for Argus Panoptes, a creature … "

"With a hundred eyes.  His name literally meant "the all seeing".  Even when he sleeps, at least one eye was kept open to watch over Io."

"How do you know that?"

"I took an introductory Greek mythology course when I was in college.  Nice name for a political magazine.  Did you come up with that?"

"Yep.  It took me quite a while to convince my brother.  He said I spent too much time cooped up in the museum."  He laughed at his brother's acute observation.  It's really not that far from the truth.  Tristan pressed the close button in the elevator, enjoying their last moment of solidarity.  "Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?"

"Not in the last 15 minutes."

"You look beautiful tonight." 

He was telling the truth.  Her hair was secured into a chic chignon by a silver barrette.  The one-shouldered dress clung to her every curve yet still left room for imagination.  When she stood by him, her delicious perfume wafted up to his nose.  It was a mesmerizing scent.  Something nice.  Something citrus.  Something that he really liked.   

"You're not so shabby either, mister."  She lightly stroked the soft material of his tux.  Tristan, on the other hand, displayed roguish charm in his well-fitted tux.  Every single movement displayed refinement and superiority cultivated from years of practice.  Yep, this guy was no ordinary Joe.  

"My grandfather got this made for me when I was 17.  He said if I take good care of it, it's supposed to last a lifetime and will be appropriate for all of life's major events."

"Your grandfather sounds like an interesting character."

"He is.  I'm sure he'll like you."  She tried ignoring the implications behind that sentence.  They had only been dating for a month and for heaven's sake, all Lorelai saw was an old yearbook picture.  No need to jump that far ahead.  

"So what's your brother like?" 

"He is the exact visual translation to the word debonair."  

"He's just like you then."  The security guard didn't even bother to ask for ID when they waltz past him into the room.  

"In more ways than one."

But she heard none of those words.  Rory was momentarily preoccupied by the grandeur before her.  She honestly had never saw such extravagance before and those Yale functions ain't shabby affairs either.  "Wow."

Wow was a right word for this.  Miles of lush black velvet mysteriously cloaked the room with silver accents bringing in a whole new layer of richness.  Centerpieces were tastefully scattered around the room in abundance.  No tacky ice sculptures, no helium balloons, no dime store confetti.  Seriously, who needed those when there's a 50-piece jazz band situated in the middle of the room?

Before she even had time to take in all the sights and sounds, her cell phone interrupted her.  It vibrated against the constraint of her tiny purse, sending tremors up her arm.  Jess's name came up on the call display.  She looked apologetically at Tristan.

"Here, why don't I take your coat to the coat check.  I'll meet you back here."  As if he had far too many experience in this area, "If that's Jess, he better not use the I-broke-a-leg-while-showering excuse."

Rory waited till Tristan was out of sight before she took out her phone.    

"Hey, I thought you're not going to call."

"Change of plans."  He replied in his usual nonchalant manner.  "How's your night so far?"

"Not too bad.  A lot less painful then what I have in mind."  On her way out, she stopped by the waiter and grabbed a cupcake from the silver tray.  The petite dessert was covered with a scrumptious white butter cream frosting and roasted coconut sprinkles.  She licked off the smidge of frosting that got onto her pinkie.  It tasted as great as it appeared.  

"Actually, I didn't call to see if you want to leave early."  

"Then why did you call?"  

"Deanna and I are having a good time so far."

"And …" Rory could guess the answer already, but she didn't dare to say it out loud.

"And I was wondering if you can come home a little later than usual."  It was not a question.  Rather, it's a statement.  

"Okay."  She replied gingerly before snapping the phone shut.  

Rory didn't know what more to say.  Have a great time?  Happy hunting?  Some joke about him being fast?  4 years on the Yale debate team and all she could've come up with was "okay."  Her underdeveloped vocabulary appalled her.  She didn't deserve her Oxford compact dictionary.  She might as well buy the phonics kit and start all over again.  

Then she saw the consolation prize in her right hand.  The pristine little cupcake.  She ate it, allowing the sweetness to mask her disappointment.  She didn't know how to compartmentalize her emotions.  Did this reaction stem from the fact that Jess was her roommate?  Or the fact that he was her ex-boyfriend eons ago?  Or the fact that both of them were ready to give up John Hughes for a frivolous night of indulgence?  She honestly didn't know.  

Thank god she finally spotted the blond hair back at the previously agreed spot.  Now that she had someone to focus on, maybe her mind would gain a new layer of clarity.

Rory gently tapped on his shoulder.  "Hey, looking for me?"

"Sure."  He looked like he was caught off-guard.  "I swear, that waiter with the tray of cupcakes was deliberately avoiding me.  If I stay in one spot, he _has_ to come around, eventually.  You think so?"

"They might run out though.  Those cupcakes are really, really good.  I had one earlier."

"I hope everybody else like them as much as you do.  My brother and I quite a few sample cupcakes before we could decide on this."  A waiter walked by and he grabbed two flutes of champagne for the both of them.  "Do you think it's inconsiderate to have roasted coconuts on it when people might be allergic to it."

"There's 500 people here and I'm sure you couldn't please everybody.  Besides, they're in plain sight.  They probably won't eat it if they're allergic to it."

"People suffocating would cause bad publicity for this magazine."  He eyebrows scrunched into a knot as he thought up worse case scenarios.  

"Relax.  I'm sure nothing bad will happen."

"I hope so."  He carefully scanned the room, but the person he was looking for was nowhere to be seen.  "Have you seen my brother?"

"I'm not sure.  What does he look like?"

"Tall, blond.  Kinda like me.  Trust me, he's hard to miss"

As if on cue, a blond-haired man walked up to them.  "There you go.  I've been looking everywhere for you.  Joe Michetti caught a hold of me and he won't stop talking about his yacht."  He paused once he noticed the man standing beside Rory.  "Yo."

"Yo yourself.  I've seen the yacht.  It's not as impressive as it sounds."

Rory stood between the two men with her mouth agape in confusion.  But it wasn't the nautical talk that caused the puzzlement.  It was their appearance.  From her vantage point, the two men looked exactly the same.  Same hair, same eyes, even the corner of the handkerchief in their breast pocket looked amazingly similar.  They looked like exact replicas and Rory had trouble distinguishing which is which.  

"Ummm.  I know I have a low tolerance for alcohol, but I don't think I should be seeing double after a tiny sip."  Rory looked at the DuGrey brothers, "Care to explain."  She didn't bother directing the question to anyone in particular.  It's not like she could tell the difference.

"Wait a minute, you have yet to introduce yourself?"  Asked the latecomer.

"I thought I knew her."

"Didn't the alarm bells ring when her face drew a black." 

"It's not like I know everyone in this room."  He waved at the crowd before them.  "Look around you, Tristan, this room is filled with hundreds of people.  I didn't invite all of them myself, my publicist did.  I thought if I start talking, I might remember who she is."

"Umm, life is not a _Seinfield_ episode."

"Don't give me that look.  This worked before."

"The two of you have to stop talking about me like I'm not in the room."  Rory now had a vague idea of the man's identity.  She must've been talking to Tristan's brother all along.  

 "Rory, I would like you to meet my evil twin brother, Christian DuGrey.  Christian, this is Rory Gilmore."  Tristan put his arm up and around Rory's waist.  She chose to ignore the borderline possessiveness of his stance.    

 "Please to meet you."  She reached out for a handshake.  

"The pleasure is all mine."  Christian bent down and kissed the back of her hand instead.  Rory was pleasantly surprised and Tristan fidgeted.  " And for the record, I'm not the evil twin.  He's saying that because he's jealous.  You see, I'm 35 minutes older and he's been holding a grudge ever since."

"I'm holding a grudge because you dumped a box of crayons into the dryer and pinned it on me.  Mom's 300-count pure white Egyptian cotton sheets came out looking like a Jackson Pollock canvas."  Tristan vehemently defended his position.  

"You've been telling everybody that.  But remember, you have no prove."  He clicked his tongue in triumph.  

Rory swiveled her head back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match.  This was an immensely interesting turn of events.  She whispered to herself, "This is like the third season of _The Amazing Race_ all over again."

"Huh?"  Tristan cocked an eyebrow in reply.  It's now his turn to look confused.

"Derek and Drew.  Except we haven't done matching outfits stint since preschool."  Christian piped up, clearly contradicting his current attire.  He added the last part upon seeing his own reflection in the form of Tristan.  "This doesn't count, because grandpa got this made when I was …"

"17 and it's supposed to last a lifetime and will be appropriate for all of life's major events.  Yes, I heard that before."  

"You mean you actually listen to him when he opens his piehole."

"Hey!"

As much as he wanted to stay and chat with his brother, Christian had other obligations.  "Anyways, nice talking to you.  But, I better catch up with Jason Laraque before he leaves.  I'll catch up with you later."

Once Christian left, Tristan saw the look on Rory's face.  "What?  Is there something on my teeth?"

"You never told me you have a twin brother."

"I thought I did."

"Nope.  You said you have a brother, but you never mentioned the identical twin part.  Also, Christian and Tristan?"

"It was nearly Tyler and Tynan.  But dad vetoed it because Ty and Ty will be too confusing."

"I'm sure that fact that you two looked exactly alike has nothing to do with the confusion."  Rory was being sarcastic.  

"Nah.  I think our looks are overrated."  He looked at Rory's downcast face, "Are you mad?"

"Me?  Mad?  Nah.  Just felt awfully embarrassed.  Thank god I didn't insult him, or his guest list, or the hors d'oeuvres, or the..."  

He interrupted her before she went off-topic like she usually would.  "You want to go now?  I think I've filled my annual quota and my cheeks hurt from smiling too much."  

"You sure it's alright with your brother?"

"We've been here long enough.  I'll just call him tomorrow for the cliff's notes version of this.  Look, I know this quaint little coffee place in the neighborhood and I think we should go there."

On any other occasion, she would not have objected to his suggestion.  But the band started playing _Can't Take My Eyes off You_.  It was one of her favorite songs.  

"Can we stay for this song?"  She knew he could never resist her if she used her bambi eyes.  

"Sure.  But you don't get to make that face for the rest of the month."  He lightly chided before he led her to the dance floor.  

~*~*~*~

By the time Tristan dropped her off, it was well into midnight.  They had a fascinating conversation on every imaginable topic.  Time really flew by when she's having a great time.  It could've gone on longer if the coffee shop employees didn't kick them out.  

She realized the night was better than expected.  

Rory also realized that she would've stayed out late with Tristan, whether or not if Jess ever called.  It was comforting to know that she didn't have any excess emotional baggage.  Guess that momentary breakdown she had was only a knee-jerk reaction.  

Rory was awfully tired and cruel reality reminded her that she still have to go to work tomorrow.  All she wanted to do was to crash into her bed.  Who cares about makeup removal and pajamas.  She was tiptoeing into her room when she saw Jess sitting like a stone sculpture on the couch.  He looked like he was doing some serious thinking.

"Hey.  Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"  She whispered as she tossed her keys into her purse.  She gave up walking on those shoes and opted to hold them instead.

"Can't sleep."  He signaled for her to sit beside him.  "Why are we whispering?"

"So we won't wake her."  She tilted her head to the direction of Jess's room.  The doors were closed.  

"There's nobody in there."  He said in a normal volume.

"What happened?"  She rearranged the cushions and sunk into the soft folds of the couch.  

"It was pretty good up till desert and the topic of music came up."

"What's the matter?  She's not a fan of the Stones?"

"Nope.  But that's not the worst.  I started talking about Glenn Miller and with that she replied, "It's that guy that hosted the football show!"  I swear, I nearly sprayed my drink out of my nose."

"Sorry, I'm lost here.  What football show?"

"It took me a while to get this one.  But my guess is she confused Glenn Miller with Dennis Miller.  Dennis Miller had a brief stint hosting Monday Night Football."

"Should I be appalled at her ignorance towards the big band era or should I commend her knowledge on sports trivia?"

"Tell me if you figure that out.  I'm still stuck on the part where she said she ever heard of the Flaming Lips before."

"Not a soulmate eh?"

"Wasn't looking for one."  He shrugged.  But he was looking for a compatible dinner companion and tonight he came up empty.  "Look, we need to talk."

 "Is it okay if we do this tomorrow?  I'm tired and I have to work tomorrow."  Rory didn't even wait for his answer before she walked back to her room.  She's not ready for this.  Not when it's 12:30 in the morning and she had to wake up in 6 hours.  

"Sure."  Jess said to the empty room.  The hollow echoes taunted his old memories.  

He never felt this lonely for a long time.  


	7. If You’re Looking to be the Next Mother ...

The most boring chapter yet. Captain exposition took over my hand when I wrote this. In fact, I'm sure you don't really need to read it. In fact, I'm not sure why I wrote it, or post it. Pffft. Whatever! 

Dedication: To MaryATroryFan. You have no idea how touched I am when you took time to write those reviews. It's always interesting to hear from you. 

Disclaimer: Yeah right, like _I_ own Gilmore Girls. Whatever's been going up your nose have to stop. 

**Metamorphoses **

**

07 ~ If You're Looking to be the Next Mother Teresa, What the Heck Are You Doing at the Met? 

**

Fridays were always the longest day of the week. The day dragged on infinitely and no amount of coffee could perk up the work process. To make matters worse, time significantly slowed down once it was past 3 o'clock. It was as if some unimaginable higher power was toying with everybody's patience. 

Kevin took a break from his work to play with a picture frame. The smiling faces of his family beckoned him to abandon his work go home immediately. His son turned eight today and he couldn't wait to go home for the celebrations. Little Darcy had invited a few friends for his very first sleepover. The next day, the entire family would pack up and spend the weekend at the beach. He could already smell the salty air infused with the pleasant scent of coconut suntan lotion. 

He was still imagining the upcoming fun-filled weekend when he was rudely interrupted by loud yelling. The image of him building a sand castle with Darcy dissolved as the voices got louder. Kevin strained his ears to distinguish the two warring camps. 

Oh great. It's _those_ two again. Who else but Tristan DuGrey and Carmen Dowling would engage in such an all out screaming match in this office. You'd think two people working at the Met would have milder dispositions. 

Kevin thought he could screen out the background noise. It was a skill perfected by months of practice. A necessary skill considering the onslaught of arguments between Tristan and Carmen. But today's intense discussion had successfully obliterated any trace of concentration he thought he had. The final straw came when he heard the explosive sound of someone slamming the door. 

By the time he walked into the break room, the excitement had significantly died down. The crowd had dissipated save for a shivering intern who looked as if his life had just passed before his eyes. Remy stood frozen on one spot with the deer-in-the-headlights look. The timid guy had only been here for 2 weeks on an exchange program from the Musée d'Orsay. He was a twitchy boy to start with too. This could not be good for his health. 

Kevin looked around the cramped space. Itchy and Scratchy were nowhere to be seen. Now _this_ was unusual. 

"Remy, what happened?" Kevin gently pried the mug of coffee away from his firm grip and replaced it with a glass of water. His body probably couldn't handle the extra caffeine shock. 

"Monsieur Valmont!" He sound startled and in process spilt half of his water onto his shoes. "I didn't know you're here." His French accent was a lot thicker than usual on account of his nervousness. 

"Calm down Remy." He patted his shoulders lightly. "What happened?" 

"I was down in the basement cataloguing the shipment we received from The British Museum. I came up to finish the paper work because the basement was badly lit and my contacts give me terrible headache if I work under fluorescent light for too long. I came in for coffee because I still have tons of work ahead me. Monsieur DuGrey was here too and I told him about the restoration work on the newly acquired stone statues. 

"Monsieur DuGrey was commenting on how most museums acquire their artifacts through looters. I happened to think he had a point. Think about the Elgin marbles in the British Museum. What Lord Elgin did was no different than blatant thievery. We were talking about the Temple of Dendur when Mademoiselle Dowling came in. 

"Maybe he said it wrong, maybe Mademoiselle Dowling heard it wrong, I really couldn't tell. But all of a sudden, they started yelling at each other. They spoke too fast, and before I knew it, she stormed off to her room and he went to the opposite direction." Remy pointed towards the staircase. The tremor in his voice had blurred his words to indecipherable fragments. 

Kevin had a faint idea as to Tristan's whereabouts. There were a few spots that Tristan usually retreated to for a quiet moment. He tried his soothing voice on Remy. "Why don't you pack up and go home early today. Work can wait." Well, not really. But what could he say to the obviously distressed boy. 

"Did I do something wrong?" 

"Don't worry. It's not your fault. This happens all the time." 

_Too often to count. _

~*~*~*~ 

As expected, Kevin found Tristan up on the rooftop. He was leaning against the ledge, talking to a lone pigeon. It cooed and tilted its head every once in a while as if it understood his arcane wisdom. When in reality, the pigeon was probably only there because Tristan was sharing a corner of his cracker with it. The heavy footsteps of Kevin scared the bird into abandoning its dinner. 

"The two of you have to stop doing that. Pepe Le Pew was nearly reduced to tears down there. If this doesn't stop sooner or later, I'm sure he'd go home and tell his friends how terrible the Americans are." 

"It's not as if the French had a high opinion of us to start with." He casually tossed the half-eaten cracker over his shoulder. 

"True. But we don't need you to make matters worse." Kevin walked over and propped his elbow on the ledge. The mild spring weather coxed the trees beneath him to be pimpled with fresh green buds. "So what happened this time?" 

"I'm not sure whether that girl is painfully naïve, or she has a bone to pick." Tristan didn't mention her name purposefully. As if mere mentioning it would leave an unpleasant taste in his mouth. 

"Maybe both." 

"Kev, let's be honest here. Museums didn't fill their display cases by waiting for the beneficiaries to donate whatever trinkets they were in the mood for. It's no secret that we rely on rich trustees as much as looters and smugglers to keep this place afloat. You think those extinct animals in the dioramas across the park died of natural causes? You think archeologists ever hesitated to think of the moral consequences when they dig up some ancient pharaoh's resting place? You think every Renaissance painting was acquired from auctions? 

"I won't be the first to admit it and I know I won't be the last. But most of what we see was probably stolen from beneath someone's nose or plundered from some remote African villages. This is a dirty business and if you're looking to be the next Mother Teresa, what the heck are you doing at the Met? Go join Amnesty International or something!" The last part was delivered with harsh grittiness. As if he was trying to project his sentiments all the way to Carmen's office. 

Kevin happened to agree with some of his arguments. There were dark elements to his job. Harrison Ford helped romanticized archeologists. But the truth was, none of them were Indiana Jones. 

But Kevin wasn't going to admit that. Not because he couldn't let go of the status quo. But because he didn't want to make the situation worse that it already was. This was a matter of point-counterpoint that he didn't want to get into. The lesson he learned from Tristan and Carmen's many catfights was not to take sides. Never. For the sake of his personal health. 

"I know the two of you have very strong opinions and fiery passion for your job, but this is getting destructive. As a friend, may I remind you that the boss doesn't have infinite tolerance." All that arguing couldn't be good for office morale. "Tristan, sometimes, you'll just have to let it go." 

"I tried. Trust me, I tried letting go." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm as tired of this as you are. I'm not some weird monster that thrives on arguments. If I do, I would've chosen a career in politics. But no matter what I do or what I say, she'd end up lashing out on me. What's up with that?" 

"I know Carmen could be unforgiving sometimes … " 

"Sometimes?!" Tristan couldn't help but interrupt. "Try _all_ the time. Do I have a permanent 'kick me' sign tattooed onto my forehead? Because as a friend, it's your responsibility to tell me that." 

Kevin looked at the frustrated man before him. Debating whether or not to divulge what he knew to Tristan. As the punching bag, he deserved to know the back-story more than anybody else. On the other hand, Kevin wasn't in habit of spreading office gossip. Especially _this _kind of gossip. 

_Heck, there's nothing to lose._

"Ever heard of Ryan Hughes?" 

"Not much. Other than the fact that the reason I have a job here is because he doesn't." 

"Ryan and Carmen met when they interned at The Cloisters." Referring to the Fort Tryon Park branch of the Met that specialized in medieval art. "You know me, I am not a man who judges other people's personal life or their approach to life. What happens outside this building is of no interest to me. But from what I hear, Carmen … how shall I put it … doesn't have a high regard for relationships. And Ryan, well, let's just say he came in at a bad time." Kevin struggled for more eloquent words as he continued his narration. 

"She was interested in Ryan, the interest was not reciprocated. But that never stopped her from trying. The glorified game of cat-and-mouse evolved from subtle nudging and winking to frequent leering. At first, he merely tolerated them, thinking she would move on once she got tired of his unresponsive stance. But that only served to fuel her advances. 

"He soon got weary of her and resigned. Last heard either working at the National Gallery in London or he's working on his Ph. D in France. Tristan, think about this, he went all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to escape from her. He was _that _terrified of her. This could not be good for her pride." 

"How did her personal life factor into my daily sufferings?" The annoyance was still in his tone, but his stance had visibly softened. It wasn't until he spoke the words out loud did he notice the alarming parallels between his life and hers. _So, this is how they saw me._

"Well, the two of you do look dead-on from behind." Kevin offered with a shrug. "Hey, don't look at me. I'm no Dr. Phil. It's not like I can decipher the inner workings of a woman's mind." He highly doubted that Dr. Phil could decipher a woman's mind either. 

"Great, I'll just get a box of permanent hair colour and ask my girlfriend to dye my hair for me. Heck, maybe I should just shave my hair." 

"Whatever works for you, man." Kevin looked at his watch and decided that he had stayed too long up here. He still had a birthday party to go to. "I better go home. I still have to pick up Darcy's cake on my way home." 

"Speaking of your boy, did he like his present?" 

"He absolutely adored the chemistry kit. But I won't let him play with it until I set up a space for him in the garage. Less potential damage this way. I still remember the time he discovered baking soda and vinegar. Simultaneously." 

"Who knew your son would turn out to be a science geek." 

"Got that from his mother alright. Well, I really should go now. One more thing, promise me that whatever I said today will not spread beyond you and me." 

"I thought everyone knew about it already." 

"True, but it's still a sore spot for her. No guarantees on what could happen to you if you throw it at her face." No guarantees on what could happen to _me_ if you threw it at her face, Kevin thought. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll remember that." Tristan gave the retreating figure a final reminder before resuming his contemplative pose, "Don't forget to pick up the candles along with the cake." 

~*~*~*~ 

Rory muttered expletives under her breath to her overnight bag. The heavy canvas bag just simply wouldn't budge from the comfort of her trunk. So maybe she _did_ pack too much stuff for a weekend stay. She tugged the handles one more time. Still no movement. The ringing of her cell phone interrupted her uphill battle. 

"Hello." 

"It's me. Did you arrive safely?" Rory already told Tristan about her plans to drive up to Stars Hollow and stay for the weekend. He told her to expect frequent phone calls since he had nothing better to do. But she didn't expect his phone calls to arrive this soon. The sweet gesture, as simple as it might be, gave her warm butterflies. 

"I'm outside my mom's place as we speak. The traffic was a lot smoother than expected. How's your day?" 

"Nothing unusual." He looked at the pigeon intently. It had circled back to scavenge for minuscule cracker crumbs. 

After hearing Kevin's story, he had an irresistible urge to call Rory. Just to verify the fact that despite the similarities between him and Carmen, he was nothing like Carmen. He was no longer the player that nonchalantly played with other people's emotions. He had redeemed himself and he had wooed the girl of his dreams properly. Rory Gilmore was no longer an unattainable dream. She was his _girlfriend_. 

The 28 years old Tristan was nothing like the 16 years old Tristan. He outlived his past. Tristan was a changed man. 

"What'cha doing?" Rory had now given up on her bag and plopped down on the curb. 

"I'm up at the rooftop." Thinking about his newfound knowledge on his feisty coworker. 

Rory knew that the rooftop was Tristan's favorite place to do some serious thinking. And by "serious thinking", she meant something more substantial than which take-out place he should call for dinner. She could guess the root of his troubles. But if he didn't want to tell, then she sure as hell didn't want to ask. 

"I hope you're not thinking of jumping. Because the Met isn't exactly a tall building and the most damage you could do is paralyzing your lower body." 

"Well, thanks for that well timed advice. I shall now move over to the Empire State Building." 

"Isn't there a cage around the ledge to prevent people from falling over?" 

"Again, your knowledge astounds me." 

"I got that part from _Sleepless in Seattle_." 

"Nah. As infuriating as my day had been, I'm in no danger of jumping." He looked up at the increasing darker sky. "You're missing out on a beautiful sunset." 

"Really?" 

"Well, this isn't like watching the sunset from the mountains or the beach. A lot less romantic actually. But the sun did tint the smog into a delicious shade of orange sherbet. It's quite spectacular." 

"Did you just use the words 'delicious' and 'smog' in one sentence?" 

"It was a long day." He sighed. "Cut me some slack." 

"Maybe I should let you go now. My mom is waving at me like a wild woman." 

"From what I heard, that's nothing out of the ordinary." 

"True. But she looks crazier than usual … if that humanly possible." Rory stood up and waved back at her frantic mother. "I'll call you after dinner." 

"Promise?" 

"Promise." As if on cue, Lorelai materialized beside her the moment she tucked the phone away into her coat pocket. The frantic waving never stopped. "Mom, I think we should get you on Ritalin." Rory was only half joking when she said that. 

"I wonder what kind of high you can get if you mix Ritalin, coffee and massive amounts of chocolate glazed doughnuts." 

"I think that's what they based the character of Spongebob Squarepants on." Rory shuddered at the thought. "Scary. In any case why are you jumping up and down?" 

"Look!" Lorelai stuffed the newspaper into her arms. 

"Umm. War in Latin America. Another avian flu pandemic. These aren't exactly news worth celebrating." 

"Look under D5." 

Once Rory flipped to that page, she immediately knew the source of her mother's joy. The picture wasn't large, but it's still there. It was from last night's event. They must've taken the picture when she was talking the Tristan and Christian. Tristan had his arms around her and she was leaning against him with all the saccharine qualities expected from two people in love. Christian 's twinkling eyes were still apparent despite the grainy texture of the black and white picture. All three of them looked like they were having fun. They didn't look like they just met each other five minutes ago. 

"See, mom will be too busy grilling you on the DuGrey brothers that she'd totally ignore my NDG comment from last week. Remember, you have yet to tell Richard and Emily that you're dating the grandson of the great Jaylen DuGrey." Lorelai then bounced back indoor in search for the frozen chocolate cake she saved for special occasions. "This is my lucky day." 

Rory stared at the picture and its unfortunate implications. _Oh boy._


	8. Does My Family Name Imply That I’d Desti...

I keep telling myself that I won't introduce anymore new characters, yet I keep doing the opposite. Paris will probably be the last mainstream character in the fic and she does play a significant role in later chapters. Be patient. I hope I do not offend anybody with my portrayal of Paris. This is my first time writing her. 

Disclaimer: I never claim to own the Gilmore Girls and its plethora of quirky characters. However, I do lay claims on those few sucky peripheral characters that I made up. So much for creative talents. 

**Metamorphoses**

**08 ~ Does My Family Name Imply That I'd Destined to be a Trophy Wife Trapped in a Loveless Marriage?**

Rory walked down the familiar hallway of her Alma Mater, stopping by only to give the familiar display cases fleeting glances. Although the old posters had long been replaced by newer ones, they still proudly distilled the research work of hard working grad students into simple diagrams and short sentences. She quickened her pace as she finally reached her destination. One of the many lecture theatres peppered across the Yale campus. 

She slid noiselessly into the back row of seats pausing only momentarily to remember the last time she did this at an entirely different institution. Rory's faded Yale sweatshirt and khakis blended in perfectly with the others. She gave the room a quick glance and categorized the surrounding freshmen into two groups. Those that furiously scribbled down every precious word that came out of the lecturer's mouth and those that barely had the attention span to treat the course material with lazy disregard. The sight reminded her own freshman year when she took the exact same course. 

Granted the person that used to sit beside her now stood before three hundred odd students lecturing them on cell division. But other than that, nothing much had changed. The lecture hall itself still had the uncanny power to induce people into sleep as proven by the few bobble heads scattered around the room. The chairs still made that squeaky noise if you shift around it too much. They still taught mitosis and meiosis in introductory cell biology. 

By the way, mitosis and meiosis were just as boring as she remembered. Boring as hell. 

As Paris blabbed on about chiasmata and metaphase, Rory paid more attention to her right wrist than the lecture. There, wrapped around her wrist, was a new charm bracelet courtesy of her boyfriend. The whimsical silver charms moved along with her hand gestures and she had gotten used to playing with the charms whenever she was bored. 

She still remembered that day when Tristan surprised her when she got back from Stars Hollow. 

It was a bright sunny afternoon and out of whim, they decided to go picnic in the park. Although it was still a little chilly, the scenery was simply too beautiful to miss. The best part came when they polished off the last almond cookie from the picnic basket and Tristan pulled the little gift box from the bottom of the basket. 

~*~*~*~

_"Why? It's not even my birthday!" Rory was surprised when he handed over the little blue box, but it was not at all an unpleasant surprise. _

_"It's doesn't have to be. Richard Burton used to get Elizabeth Taylor jewelry out of whim." She didn't want to remind him that Burton later divorced Taylor because a decade did nothing to lessen his guilt about leaving his first wife. But hey, why let that ruin the mood. _

_She tore away the wrapping paper with exuberant energy. She soon came upon the individually wrapped packages within the box. The pink tissue paper elicited a vision of miniature ballerinas nestled primly within the box. Rory simply couldn't contain her excitement. "For me?" _

_"Here." Tristan handed her the larger package, "Open this one first." _

_It took less than the blink of an eye before she extracted the silver bracelet from a crumbled mess of pink tissue paper. The bracelet glittered magnificently under the sun. There was a little medallion with their combined initials engraved on it. "It's beautiful!" she exclaimed. _

_"Wait till you see the rest of it." _

_The first little package revealed a cute little light bulb charm. _

_"I know. This is to motivate me when I need to write my next 2000 words." _

_"No you silly goose. This is for our first encounter." He held her closer and kissed the top of her head. "Well, our second first encounter." The better of the two. _

_She didn't know whether it was the silly goose comment or memories of that day in the hardware store. But a warm feeling spread through her body, giving her toes that pleasant tingly feeling. She curled up against Tristan. His intoxicating cologne only served to amplify that tingly feeling. _

_"Open the next one." He urged. _

_Her next charm was a beautiful antique glass bead. The clear aquamarine glass tangled with the darker lapis lazuli coloured ones. She watched with glee as Tristan fastened the charm onto her bracelet. _

_"Cute. I love it." She played with the little bead, following the mesmerizing pattern. _

_"It represents our history. We went way back." The bead also reminded him of her blue eyes. _

_He actually found it a few months ago when he was rummaging through his old toy chest at his grandparent's attic. It was something that his grandmother gave him when he was a kid. Tristan remembered the tears he shed when he lost the glass bead. He also remembered his ecstasy when he found it. He was still surprised at the emotional value he assigned to this unassuming little bauble. _

_"Next." Rory interrupted his thought when she excitingly pulled out another one from the box. It was a little wishbone. _

_"What good is a charm bracelet if it doesn't have a good luck charm." He said as he fastened it downstream from the glass bead. _

_"This also reminded me of that time we polished off the entire roast chicken in one sitting." The result of an insanely ambitious takeout order. _

_"If I remembered correctly, I had trouble looking at anything poultry for the next two weeks." Tristan absentmindedly rubbed his tummy as if the memory still haunted him. _

_Rory giggled with delight. She quickly diverted her attention back to the remaining little package. Although she loved all of her charms, most of her attention was concentrated onto the last little package. Something about its role as the grand finale fuelled her anticipation. It beckoned her to open it. She tore it apart when Tristan gave her the go ahead. _

_"A crown?" She looked at him quizzically as he fastened the last charm onto the bracelet. "What? No coffee bean charm?" _

_"Like you need anymore coffee-related paraphernalia." He scoffed. _

_"Nonsense. There's never too much." She slightly chided him. However, she was relieved that she didn't get anything coffee related. Honestly, her permanent attachment to her coffee mug was good enough testament to her coffee addiction. She didn't need a bracelet to remind her of that. _

_On a second thought, she didn't like the word "addiction." Perhaps "dependence" would be a better description. _

_"This is because you are my princess." He then fastened the bracelet on her outstretched wrist. "And this, is to remind you that how much I love you." _

_There it is. The big "L" word. And for once, she didn't feel the need to run away or puke when she heard the magic word. Everything else faded into a blur as those words repeated itself in her head. Tristan LOVED her. Rory could see the sincerity in his eyes. She remembered saying, "I love you too" before sharing the most passionate kiss with the man she loved. _

~*~*~*~

Rory's daydream came to an abrupt end when a chaotic horde of freshmen tried to get past her seat in order to escape to the aisle. Nothing like the end of a class to give ordinary students Olympian reflexes. Even though there were no bells to remind them, they still instinctively bolted up when the second hand stroke twelve. 

She politely stood up and let them walk by her. When they walked by, she couldn't help but tap into bits and pieces of their conversation. Most of them revolved plans for the upcoming weekend or the stress of having a seminar exam in less than a week. In mere minutes, the room was evacuated save for a few inquiring minds surrounding Paris. They were no doubt asking the most inane questions. Even though most of the time these questions had no direct correlation to the course subject. 

How did Rory know? Well, Paris used to be the one that asked all the questions and she would drag Rory along with her. This carried on to a point where the professor would frantically pack up and leave whenever he saw Paris approaching. That was three weeks into the first semester. 

Rory finally approached Paris when the last student was thoroughly satisfied with all the answers he acquired. "Hey, Bill Nye." 

"Please tell me that's not the best you could come up with." 

"How about Stephen Jay Gould?" 

"Better," Paris said as she unplugged her laptop. "So, what did you think?" 

As a grad student and a TA, Paris was all too familiar with doing the grunt work for her professors. She spent countless nights marking mediocre term papers and aggravating over simple mistakes that students made in their midterms. Occasionally, she was assigned to head small study groups. But today, her prof had agreed to let her teach a simple introductory course. He said it could prepare her for the future. Although the cell biology wasn't really her forte, she was nonetheless overjoyed by this extraordinary opportunity. Naturally, she didn't want to botch this. 

"Not too bad." 

"That's a half-ass answer." Paris protested. She stopped packing and gave Rory a scrutinizing look. "Did you even listen to a single word?" 

"I did!" She defended herself. "Hey, I listened enough to see your disturbing little video on mitosis." 

"There's nothing wrong with my mitosis video," Paris proclaimed adamantly. 

"Umm, hello. Did you realize that they used the soundtrack from _2001: A Space Odyssey_ during that video? Stanley Kubrick is probably kicking his forehead in his grave because of this." 

"Big deal. He's probably kicking his forehead already for making _Eyes Wide Shut_." She rebutted. "Let me guess. You tuned out in the first five minutes to think about Tristan." 

"Whatever." Rory just dug her hands into her pockets and completely ignored Paris's correct claims. "You know I never enjoyed cell biology. Remember? I took it because I needed the science credits and you needed company. Besides, I'm not fervently devoted to the sciences like you." 

Rory still remembered that one faithful day in front of the Harvard table when they she found out about Paris's college choice. She also remembered learning her aspirations of being a cancer researcher during Madeline's party. Though neither happened, Paris still continued in the field of sciences and was close to earning her doctorate in biochemistry. 

"You're so predictable." 

"I'm sure you didn't make me come all the way over here to lecture me on cell division or my wandering attention." She said as Paris finished packing. Rory hope to shed some light as to why she was in New Haven instead of New York. 

Paris had called her earlier and insisted Rory to be here in person. She sounded distraught and in desperate need of familiar company. Without any questions, Rory dutifully asked for half a day off and drove all the way to New Haven. That's the least she could do for her friend of ten years. 

"There's this little café a few blocks from campus. Let's go." Paris offered no further hint as to the reason why she called Rory. However, her face did show an uncommon lack of expression. An abrupt change from her former pleasant self. 

Guess she'd find out later. 

~*~*~*~

Once they had settled down to a little table by the window, Rory thought she would start telling her the reason behind the impromptu field trip. Instead, Paris remained silent even after the waiter brought over their coffees and desserts. While Rory attacked the strawberry shortcake with ferocious enthusiasm, Paris robotically stabbed her chocolate mousse torte with her fork. Her downcast eyes paid no attention to her surroundings. Paris was clearly in no mood for desserts. 

After fifteen minutes of unbearable silence, Rory finally decided to speak up, "Still remember the day we met?" 

"The day you broke my project." 

"Geez. Build a bridge, get over it." Rory rolled her eyes. "I meant earlier than that. When you found out that not only was I interested in journalism, I wanted to be the next Christiane Armanopour." 

"Is it me or did Christiane Armanpour looked like the fifth member of the Ramones?" She whimsically interrupted. They both stopped to chuckle at the visual, enjoying the much-welcomed detour from her melancholy mood. "Your point being." 

"I remembered you yelling at me after receiving this new knowledge. Let's see if I still remember the words. 'This school is my domain and …'" 

"The Franklin is my domain." Paris continued. "And don't you ever forget that." 

"There you were yelling at me, a stranger, without any reservations while my biggest concern of the day was not to join the school newspaper, but finding my locker. Ever since that day, I know you're a person that will never hesitate to speak your mind." She took a sip of her coffee. "Don't hold back now. Not when you're with me, a person that had been there for all the ups and downs." 

Paris placed the fork on top of the now deformed chocolate torte. "You know how I'm going to defend my thesis in two weeks." 

"Of course. That's why I'm so surprised when you called me. I distinctly remember your plan of shutting yourself away from civilization while you prep for the big day." 

"My mother called me yesterday, completely ignoring my 'emergency only' rule. While I'm wondering if my father finally got an aneurysm because of her, which is hardly surprising, she called because wanted me to go on a blind date. Correction, she _told_ me that I'm going on a blind date. Her friend's son came back from Europe and I'm expected to smile and nod at whatever boring manifesto he had on the automotive industry." 

"Umm, I don't think you have the time to wine and dine some strangers when you have a thesis to defend." 

"My point exactly! After I told her about my thesis, rationally, she bitched out on me. She told me that I should be eternally grateful that there's still a single, eligible man of my age available for me to blind date. Then she went on some spiel about me having the audacity to be single while most of her friends' kids are happily married, holding charity soirées in their backyard and attending DAR meetings. Apparently, I'm now the bane of her existence because I'm not married, and therefore I don't have a son and consequently I don't have to look for private schools for my yet unborn kid." Paris could no longer contain her anger and frustration. Fortunately, the café was empty save for the two of them. There were no unwanted audiences to Paris's unscripted rage. 

"Is you mom dying to be a grandmother?" Even Rory realized the absurdity of her suggestion when she said it out loud. 

"That's bullshit! Nothing spells out old age like grandkids or botox. No, no, no. She wanted a grandkid just so she can have a conversation topic, so she won't be left out when the bimbo brigade prattle on about baby Burberry. Why can't they talk about the weather like poor people?" 

This wasn't the first time Paris complained to Rory about her mother's atrocious behavior. Usually, the rage would subside after a few strawberry daiquiris. But now Rory wasn't sure if she could calm Paris down. Though she was usually the one to hold her back, even the mild-natured Rory felt that Mrs. Geller had crossed the line a little bit too far. 

"Rory, I'm a PhD student, not some bum living off grandpa's trust fund. I am an intelligent human being and my intelligence is recognized by my peers. I had numerous journal articles under my name and my research on prions does have practical applications. I already have a postdoctoral fellowship secured at the Rockefeller Institute. I have done something that most people can only dream about. 

"Yet according to my mother, my achievement was based on the amount of marriages that I could accumulate. I should be a Hartford wife. The kind that doesn't work, cook, clean or raise my own children. The fact that I'm an accomplished individual on my own was overlooked. Am I worth only as much as the man I end up marrying? Am I doomed to live in futility just because I'm a Geller and my family just happens to be stinking rich?" She emphasized her point by madly pounding her fork into the chaotic mess of chocolate mousse. 

Rory could offer no words of comfort. Lorelai was never that kind of mother. Even her pushy grandparents never resorted to blind date however anxious they were during her single days. She never understood the pressure that Paris had to go through. And now that she's happily dating Tristan, relationship angst was pretty much non-existent. 

Paris knew that too. She didn't expect Rory to solve her lurid life troubles. Nor did she expect her to dispense arcane revelations. Paris just wanted somebody to listen to her rant. Somebody that understood why she stubbornly refused to succumb to her mother's ridiculous requests. A person that could calm her down while he was blinded by her anger toward her mother. 

Of course realized that Rory could easily accomplish all of the above on the phone. But rational mentality wasn't an easy thing to come by these days and it wasn't until she finished raging did she recognize this fact. 

"Thanks for driving all the way up here to hear me rant." She sheepishly said. 

"Don't worry." Rory reached across the table and gave Paris a reassuring pat. 

"It's just … I don't know … this thesis thing is stressful enough as it is and above that, I have to deal with my mother." Paris took a swig from her soy cappuccino. "Sometimes, I just want to talk to a familiar face." 

Despite of her years in New Haven, Paris didn't have any close friends in the confines of Yale. Perhaps her aggressive attitude was off-putting. Perhaps she spent too much time in her lab. Perhaps she was content with Rory and never tried hard at making new acquaintances. In any case, the only person she felt comfortable baring her soul to was Rory. 

"I know you're a little high strung right now and I understand." Rory finished the last of her dessert. "How about this. When you're done defending your thesis, just come over. The two of us can catch an off-Broadway show or something. You know, just chill and relax and forget all about your family obligations. Heck, I'll even supply the margarita mix. Deal?" 

"Deal." And for the first time that day, Rory saw Paris smiled. 


	9. I Know I Have No Right to Ask this, But ...

I'm really sorry for totally neglecting this fic during the entire semester. School got a little distracting and I had trouble writing this. It's not as if I don't have time to write, because I did wrote a few ficlets in the meantime. It's just mainly I have time to organize the plot and characters … blah blah blah blah. It's been six months since my last update (Yeah, I can't believe that either) so you might want to re-read some bits to get reacquainted with the storyline. Thanks for sticking with me all this time. 

**Spoiler**: I officially follow the show up till _ A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving_. That's because Jess was an absolute ass after that point. But that is not to say I won't incorporate tiny facts from the show (i.e. Rory and Paris went to Yale) gleamed after that point. 

**Disclaimer**: It's quite obvious, I do not own Gilmore Girls. I don't think people ever thought I do, but just in case. 

**Dedication**: To Bright (of Everwood) because his rendition of _ Independent Women Part I_ is AWESOME!! I have a karaoke machine home, Bright. Call me! 

**

Metamorphoses

**

**09 ~ I Know I Have No Right to Ask this, But Why Do You Keep Picking Him Over Me?**

Jess Mariano hated alarm clocks. He hated them with a passion. He believed that if his body demanded 19 solid hours of sleep, why let a little annoying mechanized timepiece tell him otherwise. Of course, it would be a different matter if he was on assignment and he had to wake up at ungodly hours for tapings. But he never set the alarm clock whenever he was home. What's the rush? 

But that didn't put a stop to abrupt awakenings. 

"Holy crap!" That was the first thing he heard this morning. The frantic exclamation was followed by equally frantic clawing at the door. 

He opened one eye to see if his room still looked the way he remembered. He was too lazy to open the other eye. One of his Chuck Taylors was sitting on top of an upturned CD case. The content of said CD case had migrated next to a pile of clothes in desperate need of laundry. His dog-eared copy of 1984 quietly commanded attention on the window still. In general, the room looked like the crime scene of a breaking and entering case. 

Yep. Nothing out of the ordinary here. He blindly groped for the clock and held it to reading distance. Jess squinted at the digital readout. 7:33. He threw the clock at a random direction and groaned. This was way too early for him. 

He pulled the sheet above his head in hope that the scratching noise would go away. It did. Only temporary. Soon he felt a heavy weight plopped down beside him. A gush of fresh air attacked his face as the sheet was ripped away from his head. Someone's steady breathing tickled the tip of his nose. He opened one eye again. 

This time the sight of his shamelessly messy room was replaced by a pair of blue eyes. Her face hovered closely to his. Her nose was _this_ close to touching his. In fact, their eyes were so close that he could see his double image in them. It was a tiny distorted version of himself. Needless to say, those blue eyes belong to his roommate and good friend, Rory Gilmore. 

He closed his eyes and rolled over. The bedsprings creaked as if to protest his shifting weight. "Why didn't I get a lock when I had the chance?" Jess wanted to sleep in today. Maybe if he closed his eyes and concentrate, he could telepathically will Rory away so he could go back to sleep. 

"You bought one, but you had trouble installing it. Remember?" 

"Well, remind me to try again when I'm back," He groaned, referring to his impending trip. 

Rory leaned against his pillow and curled her legs underneath her. Jess could feel her absentmindedly smoothing away his hair from his forehead. The innocent gesture reminded him of his adolescence when they used to be together. But instead of dwelling on his past, he focused on the present. "So what brought you here at this time of the day?" 

"The microwave isn't working, " She lamented. The way she delivered her sentence, one might easily replace "microwave" with the name of a dear family pet. 

"Let me get this straight. You woke me up at 7:30 in the morning because an electronic appliance isn't working?" Jess's tone was that of amusement rather than frustration. 

"Hey, the microwave is very important. I mean how else might I reheat leftover egg rolls for breakfast." 

"Eat it cold," Jess suggested. 

"Blech!" 

"So what did you do to it?" 

"Nothing! One moment my food was spinning under the warm glow of artificial light, next thing I know it let out this weird buzzing noise and just shut down." 

"You sure you didn't use a metal container?" 

"Yes." She rolled her eyes. "I know I'm technologically challenged, but I'm not an imbecile." 

"I'll look into to it later." Rory didn't know if he was referring to the microwave or the imbecile comment. 

Throughout the conversation, Jess noticed that Rory's hand never left his hair. Her warm fingers deftly threaded between his bed head, familiarizing with every twist and curl that was there. The gesture evoked familiarity and perhaps, just perhaps, intimacy. It was the type of eerie intimacy that reminded him of all the emotion that used to run wild between them. Yet there was something startlingly subdued about it. 

It was a kind of intimacy that one reserved for a cherished bichon frise. Emotional yet … _not_. 

"I hope you can fix it before you leave. With you gone, I'll actually have to make an honest effort to feed myself and I would appreciate the added assistance of a microwave." Jess was more than a decent cook contrary to popular belief, providing a reasonable substitution for all those dinners she used to have over at Luke's. She wouldn't hesitate to sing his praises if she had the chance. Jess, however, would prefer if this information stayed between the two of them. 

"Rory, let's be honest. The most that you ever 'cooked' was re-heating leftover pizza and you still managed to burn the crust." Jess air-quoted. 

She made a half-hearted attempt to slug him in the arm. "It's _blackened_. People actually eat food that are cooked that way." 

"Well, yeah if that's on a piece of chicken or on the shrimp kabob and the term 'Cajun' was thrown in there somewhere." 

"Jess Anthony Mariano, when did you start watching Bobby Flay?" Rory covered her mouth and mock scandalized. 

"The remote control ran out of battery and I couldn't change the channel," He weakly retorted. 

"Sure." She teased. "Did you become an Emeril fan as well?" 

It was Jess's turn to hit her shoulder. "Instead of bugging me, why don't you let your boyfriend wine and dine you? At least you won't die of starvation." 

"Tristan started a new project in the museum and he's been pulling all-nighters." She stopped playing with his hair. "He's a little remote lately." The last part was uttered so softly that it risked being overwhelmed by the traffic noise outside the window. 

Jess wished she could elaborate on "remote." He wanted to know if Tristan was treating her properly as he had promised to him. He wanted to know if hurtful words were spoken. Intentionally or not. He easily slipped into a protective big brother mode, conceiving reasons and methods to produce the most physical pain on Tristan if he dared to hurt her. 

He didn't ask her explicitly though. He knew better. If Rory wanted a confidante, she would have told him without asking. 

But Rory didn't continue on that comment. Instead, she quickly steered into a different topic. "Have you started packing yet?" As much as she tried to hide it, the Tristan comment left its mark on her tone. There was a suppressed calmness that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

"I'll do it tomorrow." Jess followed her lead and didn't pursue her for more information. If she's didn't want to tell, he wouldn't ask. He respected her choice of silence. 

"I thought you're leaving tomorrow night." 

"Yeah. But I don't really have to pack. I just throw a few t-shirts into a duffel bag and I'm good to go." 

"Please tell me you're including deodorant and some kind of shampoo on that list." Jess gave her the "well duh" look. "Oooo! Bring that electric razor that I got you." 

"Nah. I think my rugged unshaven face look better on camera." He scrubbed his hand against his rough stubble. 

"Sweetie, I can grate parmesan cheese with your 'stubble'." 

"Well, you'll just have to make do with it. Electricity seems to be one of those necessities that will not be readily available to me." 

"Well, I'll drop by the drugstore after work and pick up a pack of disposables for you. I can't risk having you look like Treat Williams by the end of the month. Where are you going this time?" 

"The driest place on earth, the Atacama Desert in Chile. There's this spot near the city of Iquique for paragliding. I hear you can see the city sandwiched between the desert dune and the Pacific Ocean." 

"Sounds like fun." She sarcastically enthused. The kind of "fun" that Jess seemed to enjoy immensely. The same kind of "fun" that Rory tried to avoid desperately. 

"I think I'll have a great time. Sometimes, I still can't believe they pay me to do this." 

"Well, I think I should go now," Rory said after she caught sight of Jess's clock at the foot of the bed. "I probably should grab a bite to eat before I head over to downtown." 

While she was speaking, she attempted to roll up the sleeves of her oxfords as she spoke. But it would only scrunch up unevenly. After her third failed attempt, she stretched her arms in front of Jess and signaled for him to do it instead. He quietly obliged. Yep, that's invisible rapport is back again. As he rolled up the sleeves of her crisp white shirt, he asked, "So what's today's big story?" 

"The renovations at the Donnell Library children's section is done and they're having a press conference of some sorts." She shrugged. "I find it ironic that they're holding a media gathering in the library. I'm not sure if I should expect somebody to shush me when I ask a question." 

"Remember that time back in Stars Hollow …" 

"And Kirk was the librarian." Rory cut in, "how could I forget. He shushed at everybody … even when he's out of the library!" She rolled her eyes in merry amusement. 

"I remember that time when I was at Doose's trying to find a pineapple in the middle of January on Luke's order, because of your mother's request. Which isn't surprising at all." Rory shrugged in agreement. "And out of the blue, Kirk bolted in, came up to Taylor and told him, in front of all his patrons, that his copy of _Little Women_ was three weeks overdue." 

"Don't forget the part where he threw a hissy fit." 

"Yeah, that was the funniest thing I've ever seen. Bar none. Taylor's face just puffed up and he looked like he was going to strangle Kirk." 

Rory wanted to remind him that the funniest librarian Kirk moment came when he walked in on them making out next to the gardening books section. Ever since that time, Kirk insisted on following them whenever they're in the library and sometimes he was so close that they could hear him breathe. The sudden quietness of the room indicated that Jess remembered that part as well. 

Rory quickly changed the topic again. "Seeing that you're leaving, why don't we sit down and have a home cook meal tonight. Just the two of us, and I'll rent a couple of movies so we can pig out on popcorn afterwards. We haven't sat down and share a proper meal together for a while." 

"By home cook, you mean _I_'m going to cook, right?" 

"Hey, I can cook too." She pulled her face into a petulant pout. "I know how to make mac and cheese." 

"Let's stop for a minute and remember that time you try to make mac and cheese alright. We nearly have to call the fire department. And it wasn't even regular mac and cheese, it was easy mac. Easy mac! Food doesn't come any simpler than that!" 

Rory stuck out her tongue on account that she couldn't come up with a response. "It was a one time thing! Fine. I admit that you're the only person capable of cooking in this household." 

"Thank you. Now is there a particular request?" 

"I want eggplant parmesan! Ooo ooo ooh, and I want it with egg noodles too!" 

"I'll go grocery shopping later then. But, I can't do it tonight though. Me, Matt and the boys are going to the Death Cab show." 

"I'm still peeved that you didn't get me a ticket." She huffed. 

"Hey, Death Cab tickets are hard to get ever since Ben Gibbard did that Postal Service stint. Besides, Matt was the one that bought the tickets. Blame him." 

"Excuses, excuses." Rory rolled her eyes. "How about tomorrow night?" 

"Tomorrow night is fine by me." 

Suddenly, the blinking digital lights caught Rory's attention. She realized that the reminiscing had taken way too long and now she only has time to get coffee before work. She sat up and quickly checked herself in the mirror. She planted a quick kiss on Jess's forehead before she scurried out of his room repeatedly muttering "crap!" Jess shook his head at her time management skills or the lack or thereof and adjusted the pillows. Now that Rory's gone, maybe he could go back to sleep. He reminded himself that the kiss meant nothing, it was just one of their affectionate gestures. 

He shouldn't think too much about it. 

~*~*~*~ 

After walking the few blocks between the cafe and the library, Rory found the air-conditioned environment of the library immensely welcoming. Though she was by no means late, a healthy thong of reporters have already gathered around the podium with their notepad and tape recorder out. A few photographers were engaged in playful shoving in order to claim the best vantage point. Their competitive attitude felt at odds with the jovial giant Winnie the Pooh paintings on the wall. 

She scanned the crowd quickly hoping to find Joanna among them. Perhaps they could find some time before the press conference for small talk. The hectic pace of their job made it quite difficult for her to get acquainted with the photographer. It wasn't as if she never saw Joanna after their initial introduction. But they always seemed to run into each other in the most inappropriate times. It was always in a hallway or in the lobby or in some other equally random locations when either one of them needed to run off to an assignment or interview. 

After scanning the room more carefully this time, Rory found her photog leaning against the wall next to a potted ficus tree, casually distancing herself from the commodity. 

Jo pushed herself off the wall as she approached and gestured at the restless crowd, "If I didn't get the press package, I'd think they're flash mobbing here." Then she took notice of what was in Rory's hands, "Is that coffee?" 

"I heard you like yours black." Joanna accepted the coffee from her. Rory gulped down her vanilla latte. 

"Thank you. I worked at a coffee shop for two years. This is the only thing that does it for me." 

"Well, I consider coffee dependence a vital aspect of our job." Rory leaned against the wall right next to her. "How are you liking this?" 

"The job? I like it. It's different than my internship gig where I had to crouch the in rainforest for 5 hours wait for the perfect shot of a lemur." She took a sip of the coffee, "They weren't that far off when they call this the concrete jungle. I guess there are some fundamental similarities between here and there. But I'm still trying to get use to the pace of the city." 

"Well, it does try to live up to its name as the city that never sleep. It took me a while to get use to the pace too. Especially the traffic." 

"I know! Everybody here has a permanent case of road rage. That day, I almost got clipped by a cab on my way to an interview." 

They both giggled at the thought. She could imagine the colourful language coming out of the girl's mouth and the unfortunate cabbie on the receiving end of it. "I assume you're not a New York native." 

"God no. I can't imagine growing up here. Too chaotic." She thought for a moment, "I grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts. My father was a professor there. What about yourself?" 

"Small town USA, about half an hour drive away from Hartford, Connecticut. Actually, my grandparents still live in Hartford." 

"Hartford huh. I used to know somebody from there." 

But before Rory could decipher that look on her face, somebody materialized into the room and took up the spot behind the podium. Both girls immediately sprang into action mode as one whipped out the recorder and the other removed the lens cap from the camera. And for the next little while, both focused on the work at hand and paid little attention to their unfinished conversation. 

The room slowly emptied out after the questioning period concluded about an hour later. People were no doubt rushing off to their offices to finish writing the article. As more and more people left, Rory was surprised to find a tall blond figure standing at the very back of the room. She waved at him exuberantly. He hesitated for a moment and squinted at her, as if he was surprised to find her here, but then he quickly waved back. She mouthed, "give me a second" before walking over to where Joanna was standing. 

"I better go get these developed." Joanna said as she pulled the canister out of her camera and threw it into her camera bag along with the rest of them. 

"Okay." Rory stole a quick glance at him before she added, "If anybody asks, I'm not going back to the office. I'll just e-mail it to Tim when I'm done." 

"Sure. See you then." She was riffling through her camera bag and didn't realize that Rory had already left her spot. 

On her way out, Jo saw that Rory was kissing someone, presumably her boyfriend. For a brief moment, she thought his outline looked familiar. But she wasn't so sure about it since her head was in the way and she couldn't see his face. Once she left the building, her rational side kicked in and convinced her that she's seeing things again. And that little scene quickly slipped out of her mind. 

~*~*~*~ 

Rory was barely paying attention when Jo walked by them. She had just slipped her arms around him and was placing a kiss on his lips. It was only a split second response, but she clearly felt him tensed up in her arms. She was also a little surprised when he didn't deepen the kiss like he usually would. Suddenly, the dots started to connect together in a terrifying fashion. 

Rory awkwardly detangled herself from him and had a full fledge panic attack. 

"Oh god! I'm so sorry." She exclaimed. Now that she had a reason to look at him carefully, she saw the small details that escaped her. Though the artfully tousled hair and the blue eyes looked familiar, the person she kissed was clearly Tristan's twin brother. "I didn't mean to …" She madly gestured her hands and she was faintly conscious of the string of incomplete phrases coming out of her mouth. Her eyes were repeating, "Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!" 

"That's okay. It happens a lot more often than you'd think." Christian tried to calm her down. But once he heard his own words, he wondered what he was thinking when he thought the latter comment could make her feel better. 

"I just kissed my boyfriend's bother, I don't think that's okay! That's the polar opposite of okay!" She didn't even have the brain capacity to ask him to explain that last part. 

Her reply was louder then she intended it to be and it pierced through the silence. She continued to dispense incoherent words in high speed. Christian watched on and didn't know how to respond. He couldn't decide whether to shake her out of her babblings or just step back let her calm down on her own pace. 

Finally, after hearing her repeat the word "slut" a few times, he put a stop to it, "Rory, listen to me. The fact that you kissed me was an honest mistake … I hope." He saw Rory's face scrunched up and wished that he didn't make the joke. "Okay, still too early to joke about it. But seeing that Tristan and I look exactly alike and you've, like, met me only once, it's not your fault for mistaking me for him … again." Rory's scrunched up face came back. 

Now it's Christian's turn to wave his arms around in a nervous manner. "You know what, I'm not really good with having prolonged conversations with people in a library. Let's try to continue this somewhere else, preferably with more background noise and warm beverages." Upon seeing Rory's frozen expression, he added, "Just nod if you're fine with the idea." 

In a state of absolute embarrassment and shock, she nodded and quietly allowed Christian to drag her to a coffee shop around the corner. He sat her in a table next to the window and went off to get their drinks. Rory went on to scold herself for her stupidity until Christian set a cup of hot drink in front of her. Rory took a sip of it, careful to avoid the collision between her nose and the whipped cream. She took a second sip to make sure before she wrinkled her eyebrows. 

"I'm sorry, there must have been a mix up. This is a hot chocolate." Christian gave her the "so what?" look. "I usually drink beverages with a higher caffeine content." Nonetheless, she took another sip. 

"It's _supposed_ to be hot chocolate. I think caffeine will make you talk too fast. You're hard enough to follow as is." 

Rory snuck a peek at his cup, "But _you're_ drinking coffee." 

"That's different. This, is to bring me up to your level." She smiled at the idea. "Good to see you smile. I didn't want to be responsible for any sort of permanent frown and then have to explain the reason to my brother." 

Upon hearing that, her smile faded a little. "What happened today …" 

"Will stay between the two of us. Unless you're one of those people who adhere to an exaggerated version of 'honesty' in a relationship, cause if that's the case, give me some time to skip town before you tell Tris." Though he sounded like he was joking, Rory could tell he was partially serious. 

"Will 48 hours be good enough?" 

"Airline connection is a bitch. Give me 72. That should be enough time for me to skip around a few continents and find a remote island to settle down." He reciprocated the deadpan expression. 

"I was thinking of what you said earlier. I've only met you twice yet I managed to mistake you for Tristan both times. Those kind of odds are clearly not in my favor. So, is there a visible characteristic or _something_ for me to make sure I don't make the same mistake again?" 

He thought about it for a while, "How about this, I have a chip on my front tooth from rugby. You can always check for that." 

She checked his grin and surely, a small corner of his front tooth was chipped off. "Man, your teachers must have had a field day trying to tell the two of you apart." 

"Well, my mom refused to dress us up in identical clothes. So for most part, people only need to figure out who's who in the morning and they're good for the rest of the day." 

"What about uniforms?" 

"Well, by then our friends got used to us and they were pretty good at telling us apart. After a while, it got even simpler when I moved to England." 

"You grew up in England?" 

"Yeah, I moved there with mom when I was 10. I didn't come back until I graduated university." 

Now that he mentioned it and she knew to look for it, she could hear the nuisances and shadows of a public school accent. She'd remember this along with the chipped tooth the next time she saw either one of the DuGrey brothers. 

"This would certainly explain why I never saw you nor heard of you in Chilton." 

Rory knew that Mrs. DuGrey moved to England after the divorce. Tristan only told her the barest outline of that. She assumed that's because the divorce was a sore spot for him. And she always knew that Tristan seldom talked about his brother for whatever reasons. Still, she was surprised that he never brought up the part where Christian went along with his mother. 

Christian seemed to be able to read her thoughts when he offered an explanation. 

"See the thing with Tris and I is that we're twins, we had that whole cliché telepathically linked deal going on. But in truth we only lived under the same roof for 10 years, give or take a few summer vacations. We lived in two different countries in two different continents and we're both too busy with life to keep up with each other. So, for a good long time, both him and I are not used to having a brother around." There were also other reasons that sparked a brief period of animosity. That, he wasn't ready to tell her. "That's probably explained why he seldom brought me up in conversations." 

Rory Gilmore had always been Tristan's obsession back in high school and he would always describe a certain gesture or endearing qualities of hers to his grandfather. Of course some of these details were leaked to him when Christian talked to his grandfather. Even though all those Rory stories that his Grandfather told him made him feel like he knew her all along, he didn't want to tell her everything. Yet. 

"But I saw the way the two of you talk back at the party and you guys looked amicable." 

"See that's the good thing about the distance. We used to fight a lot when we were kids. We fought over toys, the last cookie on the plate, which of us get to play on the swings, you know, the whole gamut. But after I moved, I was only able to come home for a few weeks during the summer vacations and it felt so silly to fight. It was a terrible waste of time when we could instead do things a little bit more constructive. Think about it, if we end up holding a grudge against each other, that means we can't really resolve it until he comes to visit me during Christmas or me coming home during summer. 5 months is a long time to hold any grudge and we both knew better." He told her absentmindedly as he tracked the movements of the people on the other side of the window. Suddenly, he was aware of her, "I'm sorry if I'm boring you to death." 

"No, that's okay. I don't mind knowing more about him. It's just, I know this sounds silly, but I always have a feeling that he knows more about me than I do of him." 

Christian wanted to tell her that Tristan had a ten-year head start on her when it came to obsessing over her. But he knew better than to freak her out or make his brother come off as a stalker. Instead, he offered, "He likes you very much. I can tell." 

"Me too. It's just … I have no trouble knowing Tristan. I know the way he likes his waffles, his favourite jacket, or that time when he fell off the tricycle when he was four. But that's _it_. It's all only about Tristan. I know little about you, or your parents … you know, the big things." She fiddled with her napkin and rolled it into a little ball. "It feels like I know him, yet … I don't." 

"Hey, if you want, Tristan and I are planning to have dinner with grandpa this Friday. Why don't you come hang out with us?" 

Christian stuttered half way through when he realized that he just put his foot into his big mouth when he offered to introduce his brother's girlfriend to his grandfather. Something that he should leave Tristan to do. But his continued on with the invitation anyways. There was no turning back "I'm sure Grandpa would be delighted to finally have a face to connect to the name. He can tell you all about Tristan starting with the sonogram pictures. You might even get sick of hearing about him by the end of the night. Not to mention the cook is super awesome. He does this spectacular pan-fried sole, and I have yet to taste anything better in the city." 

"Friday? As in tomorrow night?" 

This wasn't the first time she had to pick between Tristan and Jess. Deep down, she felt bad for blowing off Jess so many times and she knew her roommate deserved better. Not to mention Jess would be gone for a month and this would be the last time she would see him before he left. But at the same time, she couldn't resist the opportunity to finally meet the fabled DuGrey patriarch or to know more of Tristan's family. 

"Yeah, tomorrow night. I know I'm cutting it close." He saw her hesitation. "I'm sorry. It's probably too early for meet the grandparents huh. Just pretend I never offered that." 

"Oh no. I'd be equally delighted to meet your grandfather. Tristan said many fine things of him. It's just, I promised to have dinner with my roommate." She pursed her lips and thought about it. "But you know what, I see him everyday and I'm sure he won't mind if I blow him off this one time." 

"Good. We start dinner at 8, so you have plenty to get there after work." 

"I'll still have to run this over with Tristan." If he finally called her back after the numerous messages she left on his voicemail. "But yeah, I'm sure we can make it. So, I have a little question. When _that_ happened and you tried to pacify me by telling me that it happens a lot of often than I think. What was that suppose to mean?" 

He gave her a smirk that she swore was identical to Tristan's. Perhaps it was genetic. "I'll let Tris explain that to you. I don't what to reveal all his secrets at once." 

She was going to comment on his smirk when her cellphone started ringing. Rory was going to let it skip to voicemail, but Christian stood up and put on his jacket, "Why don't you answer the phone. I have an 4:30 appointment and I should go and prepare for that anyways." 

"Okay. I'll probably see you tomorrow night then." She waved back at him as she answered the phone. "Hello." 

"Hey it's me." 

Rory cringed at the voice. She was hoping to tell Jess later when she saw him at home. She needed time to formulate her sentences properly before so she could let him down easier. "Hey. What's up." 

"Well, I'm at the grocery store" He said as he threw a can of diced tomatoes into the basket, "and apparently, egg noodles came in a variety of widths and sizes. There's also barley egg noodles and toasted barley egg noodles. I think only Martha Stewart could tell the differences between those. So, any special requests or should I just close my eyes and pick one?" 

She didn't know how to say it, so she just said it. "I just saw Christian today, and he invited me over to dinner with his grandfather tomorrow." She didn't need to go any further and Jess already knew what she was getting at. 

"You don't have to worry about me." His automatic reply rolled out easily. Jess almost fooled himself with that. 

"You sure? Because we can still have dinner together tomorrow night. All you have to do is say it." 

Jess was tempted to say it, just to see if she was really willing to pick him before her boyfriend. But he knew better. "Nah. Don't worry. Go have dinner with the DuGreys. I can always go out with Matt. It's no big deal." He said that, even though it felt like a big deal. 

"Okay, I'll see you when I come home then." She felt both guilty and relieved. 

"You probably won't catch me. I'm leaving early for the concert because there's no assigned seating. By the way, I can pick up the disposable razors while I'm here. So you don't have to." There was an unavoidable bitterness to his tone. 

"Oh. Well, I'll see you later tonight or tomorrow then. Bye, have fun at the concert." She said timidly before she put away her phone. Rory couldn't help but wonder if he's punishing her by shutting her out. Because if he did, she deserved it. 

Jess put the phone away in his back pocket. He knew that he was no longer on the very top when it came to Rory's list of priorities. And he accepted that. But he still couldn't fight back the harsh taste of disappointment when he returned that can of tomatoes back on the shelf. Perhaps he was making things harder than they really should be. 

Or perhaps he had trouble letting it go. 


	10. Can You Keep a Secret?

This is the first time I wrote two long chapters in a roll in such short period of time. So it might feel rushed. But I know I definitely can't find time to write once school starts, so I hope this will tie you over for now. Titles ripped off a song title from one of my favourite Japanese artists – Utada Hikaru. Though I can't understand a single of word of her lyrics, her music _rocks_! Leave a review … or something. 

**Spoiler**: I officially follow the show up till _A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving_. That's because Jess was an absolute ass after that point. But that is not to say I won't incorporate tiny facts from the show (i.e. Rory and Paris went to Yale) gleamed after that point. 

**Disclaimer**: Gilmore Girls do not belong to me, it belongs to some higher beings in the WB food chain. Get it! 

**Dedication**: To Reeka and the Trory Troupe at ff. Your magnificent writings and fanarts helped inspire every single word of this story. Love ya all! 

**

Metamorphoses

**

**10 ~ Can You Keep a Secret?**

Have you ever had that dreadful feeling of anticipation? The feeling that something big will happen soon? The feeling of utter helplessness? The feeling that if you had a choice, you'd run away this instant, despite knowing that running away wouldn't make the problem go away? It's like waiting in line for a flu shot or the half hour prior to a final exam. You knew that 3 minutes or 3 hours later, everything would be fine and life would go on as before. 

But for this moment, you couldn't control your feelings of dread. Your heart had that sinking feeling. Your brain was too preoccupied to process information properly. Perhaps whoever came up with the phrase, "the anticipation is killing me" deserved more credit for accurately portraying this moment. 

This was exactly what Rory was going through. 

She tried to think of something else as she navigated around the Met to keep her mind off of her present predicament. She thought of her mother, who gave everyone an aneurysm when her home pregnancy kit gave a false positive. She thought of Luke, who clearly couldn't deal with another teenager after Jess, who went and made a cradle anyway while her mother waited for her period. She thought of Jess, who started looking for abridged versions of children classics in the used bookstore even though the idea of "those two doing the nasty" freaked him out. She thought of the elevation and disappointment they experienced when they did all of this for nothing. 

They were all amusing images. But still she couldn't distract herself for too long. Once her mind had settled down between bouts of inner laughter, she would think of tonight's dinner. Even though she was looking forward to this dinner since yesterday, she still couldn't help but dread it. And her palms were awfully sweaty. Mainly because she didn't know what to expect of the DuGrey men. Or what to expect of herself. Would she say or do something idiotic? Would she embarrass herself in front of them trying to make unfunny wisecracks? 

She wished she could run. 

Once again, she tried to think of something else _other_ than the impending doom. As she waited patiently for the elevator, her mind thankfully wandered to her conversation with Tristan last night. She was getting ready to call him when her phone rang. They exchanged pleasantries and she got a few laughs when she told him about Kirk's latest entrepreneurial attempt. Soon, they approached the topic that was on both of their minds. 

"I was just talking to Christian. He said he saw you today." 

"Yeah. I was at the library for an assignment. We went for coffee afterwards." She paused to gauge his response. When she got nothing, she added, "Actually _he_ had coffee. Christian had the audacity to get me hot chocolate. Hot chocolate! And when I asked him, he admitted to knowingly withholding caffeine from me. You're right, that brother of yours is evil!" 

He chuckled at the image, "Well he doesn't know you as well as I do. He never saw you in a caffeine withdrawal rampage. But before I get too distracted badmouthing my brother, let's talk about tomorrow. Chris told me that he invited you over for dinner." Unexpectedly, Tristan sounded like he was anxiously anticipating the event. In a good way. She didn't know why she expected otherwise. Perhaps his recent remoteness had thrown her off. 

"You're fine with the idea?" 

"What I'm not fine with is Chris's big mouth especially when _I_'m suppose to be the one to extend the invitation." Rory could picture him roll his eyes at his big brother. "But yeah I'd love to introduce you to gramp. I've actually given this some thought and I've been waiting for the chance to bring it up. Gramp had heard enough stories of you and he can't wait to finally meet you. But I never asked because I thought I would come across as too eager." She somehow had the image of Tristan scratching the back of his head out of nervousness. "So … do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?" 

"Sure." It sounded a lot better hearing the invitation from Tristan himself. Before, she felt weird for wanting to go without discussing with Tristan first. "But we don't have to do this if you don't feel comfortable with it." 

"I _wanted_ this to happen." He said firmly, dispelling all her doubts. 

"Okay. I can meet you at the Met after work and we can go together." 

And _that_ explained why she kept biting her lower lip fretfully as the elevator brought her to Tristan's floor. Rory was greeted with the familiar sight of Tristan's floor and the receptionist now knew her well enough to give her a knowing smile when she walked by. But she paid little attention to that. The erratic beatings of her heart had taken up too much of her concentration. 

When she reached Tristan's office, she saw the man leaning against his bookcase consulting his little green copy of Euripides. His desk was still as messy as before … if not messier. Upon seeing her, Tristan immediately put away his book and pulled her against him. She easily buried herself in his embrace. The event from previous day snaked into her mind, but it quickly dissipated when they shared a quick kiss. 

Rory unwittingly compared Tristan and Christian, coming to the conclusion that their differences were actually quite obvious. Perhaps because she knew to look for it, perhaps because she was more attuned to the details. Whatever the reasons could be, she noticed a sense of security and comfort with Tristan that cannot be reciprocate by other people. Looking back, she couldn't believe she made that kind of mistake yesterday when all the clues were right there. 

From that moment on, she stopped thinking about yesterday's misadventure. 

Afterwards, she picked up the book that he was reading and perked up at the title, "I remember writing an essay on justifying Medea's killing of her children back in college. I got an A on it." 

"What, no A+?" His teasing was swiftly replied with her hitting his shoulder with the book. He didn't hesitate to return the favor as he tickled her feverishly fully aware that Rory was extremely ticklish. 

"Gahh!" She squealed. Rory quickly surrendered when she had to curl up into a little ball gasping for breath. Tristan's co-workers were probably drawing the wrong conclusions and snickering outside. But for the moment, the couple didn't care. "Apparently I didn't use enough sources. Whatever that hell that's supposed to mean." She channeled vitriol towards her old classics prof once she caught her breath. 

"Hey, let's stop talking about him for a minute." He leaned against his desk and draped his arm across her shoulder. "I know I was supposed to say this yesterday, but I want to do it when I can see you." 

" … Okay." Rory didn't know how to respond to the sudden seriousness of his voice and the way he dipped his head down. 

"I know I've been acting a little _distant_ lately and I keep forgetting to return your calls. And I'm sorry about that. It's just, work had been crazy and …" 

"Tristan, you don't have to explain. And you don't have to apologize either." She interrupted him, "You had a huge project to organize, and if I was in your place, I probably would do the same thing." She affectionately squeezed his hand. 

True, she felt a little left out with him ignoring her lately, but she understood the circumstances. That's why she didn't mention his lack of phone calls during their conversation last night. Nor did she complain to Jess when she had that little slip of tongue yesterday morning. 

Tristan squeezed her hand back and thought he must have finally done something right to deserve such an understanding girlfriend. 

He basked in the moment a little longer before he bolted up. "I want to show you something." He nearly knocked over the coat rack in his hurry to grab his coat. Rory indulged in the spontaneity of it and allowed him to lead her out of the office. He didn't even wait for the elevator. Instead, he opted to run down the stairs. When he noticed that she had trouble running down the stairs as fast at him, he just picked her up and threw her over his shoulders despite her repeated pleas to put her down. 

He finally put her down when they reached the basement. She knew it was the basement because of its bare concrete walls and the feeling of absolute isolation. While she took the time to straighten out her skirt, Tristan had taken the liberty to sign her name and his on the security log. The security guy gave time a cordial smile when they walked past him. 

Though Rory wasn't easily spooked, the dim space still gave her the chills. She held onto Tristan's hands as tightly as she could as he navigated through a series of corridors that all looked the same. Their footsteps sounded unrealistically loud against the concrete floor. The scene before her reminded her of the prelude to every B-rated horror movie. She could do nothing but trust that he knew where to go. 

Soon, her curiosity made her speak up, "Where are we going?" Echoes of her question lingered in the hollow space. 

"One of the storerooms." 

"Ummm … why?" 

"I'll explain when we get there." He led her around another corner and they came upon a series of doorways, each with a numbered plaque above the lintel. He went to the very first door and inserted a key in the lock to open it. 

Once Tristan switched on the light, she knew they had come to storage area for paintings and other valuable art objects. Hundreds of paintings were stacked atop each other till they reached the ceiling, all encased in glass for the entire length of the room. The lighting was dim and none of them shone directly on the canvases themselves. He led her past the long rows of paintings to the workshop in the back of the room. 

"I never told you the details about my latest project, did I?" 

She surveyed the workshop, "Let me guess, try to get the Queer Eye guys to redecorate this place?" 

"I'm not sure we have any use for the culture expert here." 

The room was surprisingly empty, on account that it was a Friday evening before a long weekend. A canvas was spread out on the table, waiting for experienced workers to tend to it. Even the most dedicate grad students and scholars had gone home instead of poring over mountains of paintings for that eureka moment. 

"The Met put on special exhibitions all the time. They were usually more in-depth than the permanent collections featuring a centering on a theme. I thought of this idea a couple months ago." He could not hide his pride. He pulled out a binder from the shelf and handed it to her. 

She looked at the cover and read aloud, "Metamorphoses. To evolve, transform, change. A simple word with complex meanings. On its own, it's the title of Ovid's most influential work. Substitute the 'e' with an 'i' and the word describes the physical changes that animals go through during maturation." She flipped through the binder's mundane content, detailing the budget and human resources it required to bring the idea to life. 

"This exhibit will center on Ovid's Metamorphoses and its influence on art throughout the ages. There will be sculpture, paintings, cartoons, tapestry and other genres of art on display. We're still assembling the collection. Come here, look at this." 

He excitedly pulled up one of the covers to reveal the corner of a beautiful tapestry. Even though Rory could only see a small portion of it, she was overwhelmed by the richness of the colour and the scale of it. She couldn't imagine the dedication and creativity it took to translate the famous scene of Arachne and Minerva. The characters retained their animated expressions despite the medium and the age. 

"Sometimes I get caught up with office politics and I wonder why I'm doing this. Working overnights preparing presentations and analyzing research only to have some psychotic half-pint pixie bitch mouth off at me for no apparent reason." Rory had come to expect the colourful adjectives when it concerned Carmen. Thankfully, he usually limited his tirade to a few obscenities before letting the subject go. "But then I come down here or to the main gallery and look at the art, it feels like everything is worth it. 

"When I was a kid, I entertained the idea of time traveling. Chris, being the nut job that he was, _is, _would play along and fabricate stories to go with it." He paused to laugh at the absurdity of his childhood imagination. "When I was older, I realized that time traveling was impossible. So, I gave up on the idea. Until I started working here. I know I'm stretching things here but think about it, what we're doing is not that far away from time traveling. 

"Stories of gods and mortals were passed down as oral history among people, either as entertainment or cautionary tale. Each orator would translate the stories into dialects unique to the region and in turn added their own interpretations. This continued for years till this man, named Ovid, came along to compile all of these stories into a book. _Metamorphoses_. It then survived for years despite censorship and translated to different languages. Then some painter or sculptor read _Metamorphoses_, imagined a vivid snapshot of a story and created a piece of art out of this image. His or her work survived politics, wars, and neglect and is now right in front of you. 

"Four thousand years of history distilled into a glorified rug. _This_ is the closest I can come to time traveling." 

Rory looked at the object in front of her with newfound perspective. She stood closer to closely examine the details, careful not to touch it for the fear of leaving undesirable marks or fingerprints on it. "You can't see the future, but you can experience the past through layers of interpretation by different generations of people." She looked at him with admiration. "That's a wonderful notion." 

"Kevin thought so too. We suggested the idea to the head honchos and they loved it. They think this could attract almost all age groups and we might make money out of it." 

"When will the exhibition be?" 

"Well, we're still in the initial stage of planning. We have to organize fundraisers and arrange inter-museum loans. Once those are done, everything will fall into place. The whole thing will take quite some time, but I hope it'll be ready by next year." 

Rory cocked her head side ways to see the subtly intricate details. "This sounds like it's going to be a great project. I want to write the story when it's out." 

"Just remember, I'm showing this to you as my girlfriend, not as the reporter. Nobody outside of the Met except for a few partnering museums know about this." He showed her this to explain why he had been so busy lately. Even though he knew Rory wasn't the kind of girl that required explanations, he felt better if she knew all about it. 

"Trust me, I know better than that. I can keep a secret." She gave it one last look before remembering that Tristan and her still had to drive up to his grandfather's place. "But I think we should take off now. I don't want to be late the first time I meet your grandfather." 

~*~*~*~ 

Over at Laurel Grove, Christian was enthusiastically pouring himself a glass of red wine in the kitchen. When Marguerite, the cook, looked away, he quickly popped a mini tomato tart into his mouth. Unfortunately, the tray of tarts was fresh out of the oven and it was quite hot. He couldn't help but let out a silent squeak when the hot liquid scalded his tongue. 

That little squeak didn't escape Marguerite though. She quickly hovered around Christian. 

"That serves you right." Upon seeing Christian helping himself to another mini tart, she promptly hit his hand so the tart dropped back onto the tray. Marguerite had been cooking for the DuGreys ever since the twins were born. Naturally, she fussed over them in a motherly way whenever they're around. She continued to treat them like 5 year olds even though they were grown men now. Of course, that was partially due to the twins acting like 5 year olds around her. "Those are appetizers for later." 

"Well, I can't help it. Your cooking is so good." He stopped fanning his tongue to fake innocence. 

She wiped her hands on her apron and affectionately pinched his cheeks. "Always the sweet talker." Her smile accentuated the fine lines around her eyes. The cook turned around to finish tossing the salad. 

Once more, Christian tried to sneak a tomato tart into his mouth. Once more, his attempt was thwarted by the cook. She plucked the mini tart out of his hands and placed it back on the tray. "Out! Out of my kitchen you little rascal." She cheerfully kicked him out of the kitchen. 

Janlen DuGrey leaned on his cane and watched on amusingly as Christian stumbled out of the kitchen. "Marguerite caught you again?" He asked even though he knew what the answer would be to such a question. 

"She has eyes growing out of the back of her head. And she smacked me. Hard!" Christian bemoaned. He held his hand out as if to expect sympathy from his grandfather. But the elder DuGrey just shook his head at the familiar sight. Christian followed him to the living room and helped him settled into the couch. He mirrored his grandfather's comfortable way of sitting back deep into the seat. 

"That serves you right for stealing food straight under her nose." He laughed. "You should know better after all these years. How's the magazine coming along?" 

"We're not making money yet." He didn't sound particularly bothered by that. 

"Well, it's still too early. It's been, what? A month? Wait a little longer. Wait till more people read it, or hear about it. Tristan sent me a copy a couple weeks ago. There's some good, in-depth reporting there." 

"I thought so too. We just got the stats and it said the subscription base is increasing and we signed on more advertisers. Hopefully the trend will continue. I have faith in the magazine." 

"Do you still assume editorial control?" 

"Yep. I want to set the tone of the magazine early on, but that's no guarantee to what will happen in the future" 

"What's going on?" As usual, nothing escaped his grandfather. Janlen picked up the hint of doubt in his voice. 

"I like working at the magazine right now. Despite the rampant JFK Jr. jokes, I have fun there. I feel like I'm actually doing something that I want to do, and I'm surprisingly good at it." He swirled his glass of red wine and take a sip of it. "But dad has been persistent lately …" 

"He still wants you to take over?" 

"Either me or Tristan. But Tristan is doing quite well at the Met and me … well, he thinks I'm just fiddling around with the magazine. He thought I just needed the time to 'find my true calling' and sooner or later that'll translate to me crawling back to him. But the thing is, I'm happy right now. I don't want to work for him and honestly, real estate bores me to death." 

"Well, your father was a big believer in nepotism." Christian shot him a sarcastic "you think?" look. "He just didn't want to see his years of hard work handed over to some stranger. So you have no intention of going back?" 

"Not for now, or the foreseeable future. I'm happy with what I'm doing right now and I don't want to abandon it. Yet." 

"I can try talking to him and see if he's willing to hold it off for a bit. But eventually _you'll_ have to tell him yourself." 

Janlen had always served as the go-between between Steven DuGrey and his sons. Perhaps that was because both Tristan and Christian felt closer to their grandfather than to the father. He could see why. Steve was a workaholic and he barely spent time with his family. The neglect had sparked many violent fights with his wife and it was one of the reasons behind the divorce. Regardless, Tristan and Christian had come to depend on their grandparents for advice and attention. 

"I will … just … not now. I wish I wouldn't have to worry about it permanently. But knowing dad, he'll get his way eventually." 

"That's not always true." 

"Both Tristan and I got our MBA didn't we? Even though he started with classical studies and me with political science. If our dad was somebody else, Tris would probably go to grad school and write his thesis on the discovery of Troy and I'd probably go to law school." He ran his hand through his hair. "He's the only father I know that discourages his son from going to law school." 

"It worked out for the both of you. I'm sure things will be harder for Tristan and you if you pursue your current careers without your MBAs. It gives you an extra edge. But both of you went to the university of your choice. That in itself is no small feat." 

"I guess. I still remember him hanging up on me when I told him I wasn't coming home to start my semester at Yale." 

The twins both applied to Yale. Though they were accepted, they had no intention of going. It was a symbolic gesture that they hoped could pacify their father. Unfortunately, Steve took the gesture too seriously and thought both of his sons were going to continue the family tradition. It wasn't until two weeks before the beginning of the semester did Christian brave the heat and tell him. Tristan followed suit soon after. As expected, he exploded on both occasions. Janlen had to placate the father and dispense emotional therapy to the sons after the ordeal. 

"At least you got to do it on the phone. Tristan had to do it in person and he said the vein was actually throbbing with a life of its own." Janlen chuckled at the absurdity of the image. The boys told him of their plans before they told their dad. For a very simple reason. Grandpa was always supportive of their choices and he firmly believed in free will; dad got mad if things didn't happen according to his way. 

Also, dad had "the vein." It was a strategically located vein above his left eye that made a timely appearance whenever Steve was on a rampage. It looked particularly menacing when the twins were young. Janlen came up with the rather descriptive and unimaginative name to sooth the crying boys. Now that they're older, they liked to make fun of it and their grandfather often joined in. 

Luckily, it was probably from a recessive gene unique to Steve. 

"See, that's why I don't get him. I knew you went to Yale on scholarship and he went there because of the alumni association. But I never see why we have to go as well. You'd think he's more ecstatic with our decisions. Harvard and Cambridge are … _respectable_ universities." 

"The problem with your dad is his need to be in control. He wanted you guys be brought up in a very specific way, but you left with your mom and Tristan ended up with a brief stint in military school. These should never have happened according to him. The thing with Yale was his last attempt to exert control. And it understandably backfired, because he didn't realize that you're old enough to make you own choices and live with the consequences." 

"The way I saw it, I had a good reason for going to Cambridge. I wanted to stay close to mom. And Tristan, well, Tris wanted to go to Harvard to look for Rory. A stupid reason, but a reason nonetheless. Which is ridiculously ironic seeing that Rory went to Yale." He carelessly joked. 

"You better keep you mouth shut when she's here later. Tristan will kill you if she knows about it." 

"Trust me, I know better than that. I can keep a secret." He thought of the string of "secrets" he was supposed to keep. "But compare this to other things that Tris keeps secret from her, this won't be the biggest. Nor will it be the most important." The room fell into an unsettling silence as they contemplated the truth behind it. Christian finished his wine in one swift gulp. "Rory is a nice girl. I hope Tris knows what he's doing." 

Janlen solemnly agreed, "Let's hope he won't screw this over." Tristan's previous relationship failure was still fresh on their minds. It wasn't as if they could easily forget that disaster. 

The ringing doorbell shocked them out of their reverie. Christian helped his grandfather up and handed him his cane. "I need another glass of wine." He looked dazed, as if he needed the alcohol to numb those memories. 

Janlen shifted his weight around and looked at Christian's retreating figure. The impatient ringing of the doorbell reminded him that the butler was on vacation. He slowly walked down the hall and when he walked past the mirror, he unconsciously stopped to fix the collar of his shirt. Unknown to Rory, he was just as nervous at meeting her himself. 

He opened the door to his tall blond grandson and the famed Rory Gilmore holding a bouquet of yellow tulips. Tristan immediately hugged his grandfather as usual, he then introduced her, who nervously stepped up to shake his hand. 

"Good evening Mr. Dugrey. I didn't know what to bring and Tristan forbade me to bring a bottle of wine or a dessert. So I thought of these." She said as she handed him the flowers. "He said you liked yellow tulips." 

"The first place we went sold out. The flowers from the second place looked 'anemic.' And we had to drive out of our way to get these. That's why it took us this long to get here." Tristan said as if he just completed the Odyssey. 

"These are beautiful." It was a bouquet of about 50 tulips tied together by a simply elegant yellow ribbon. "Why are you guys still standing here? Come on in, dinner is ready in five minutes. I'll put these in water." Tristan closed the door behind him. 

Once Mr. DuGrey left, Tristan squeezed her hand and whispered into her ear, "See, I told you my gramp will love you." 

Christian chose this moment to walk into them interpreting the innocent gesture as something more. "Whoa! Separate seats you guys. Grandpa is in the next room." He joked. Tristan jokingly punched his brother's shoulder almost spilling his glass of wine. 

"I'm sure you remember my nutcase brother." 

Christian wanted to wink at her, but he afraid that the innocent gesture would set off another hysterical attack. So instead he just sarcastically laughed, "Funny. I can't believe you're still hanging out with this bloody git." He told Rory. Tristan attempted to slap him again but Christian blocked him and tried to hit him instead. They quickly engaged in an amusing slapping fight. 

At the sound of their grandfather's approaching footsteps the twins immediately stood straight. But nothing escaped his eyes. He quickly apologized to Rory, "Those two barbarians, you leave them alone for a moment and they start to look like Tarzan with clothes." Mr. DuGrey slipped her hand in the crook of his arm, "Please ignore them. Let's come this way to the dining room." 

While Mr. DuGrey listed the night's menu to Rory in mischievous anticipation, she couldn't help by feel that the boys were sticking their tongues at each other immaturely behind their back. At the thought of that, she couldn't suppress the inner laughter. Boys will be boys. 

~*~*~*~ 

The dinner went by smoothly and their hearty appetite helped polish off the entire rack of lamb. Christian wasn't exaggerating when he said the cook was marvelous. Rory couldn't stop singing the cook's praises as she devoured her second helping. 

The conversation flowed freely, partially thanks to the wine. Between the four of them, they had finished two bottles of wine. Most of it consumed by the twins. They were not drunk, but they were definitely more talkative. It was the time between sober and outright drunk when people were most willing to share their embarrassing stories. Christian finished his last bite before launching into another story. 

"Hey, Tris, remember when we were in grade school and I got into trouble for pushing Jenny Gilbert." 

"Oooh! This is a good one!" Janlen quickly proclaimed. 

"How can I forget?" Tristan rolled his eyes. An act made more frequent thanks to his brother's presence. 

"What happened?" 

"Well, I was caught in the act. Fortunately, that was the substitute teacher and she had yet to know our names." 

"So this dillhole here told her that his name was Tristan DuGrey." He scoffed. "I was eating my lunch, minding my own business when I suddenly got called to the principal's office. Back then, I thought the principal's office was this scary place with torture devices. So naturally, I freaked out. And the principal wouldn't believe me even though I repeatedly told him that I didn't do it." 

"Finally, they got Jenny to the office and she took a look at him and immediately told them that they got the wrong guy. The principal smarten up after that time and it never happened again." 

"Too bad for you. You have to come up with new ways to pin the blame on me." Tristan didn't sound mad, but he did give him the stink eye. They look like a typical bickering pair of brothers. There was absolutely no hostility between the two. 

After spending some time with the DuGreys, she felt like she finally had a firmer grasp of their personalities. Christian was the easygoing class clown who lived for practical jokes. But behind the silliness, he had a certain hidden wisdom that could not be described. Tristan indulged in his brother's jokes, but she couldn't see him doing half of the stuff that Christian did. He was more sentimental, more melodramatic. He only craved attention from people that were close to him and hardly cared what others thought of him. 

And Janlen DuGrey, well from the way he interacted with his grandsons, it was clear that the twins adored him. He treated them as equals and in turn, they looked out for him. They were obviously very attached to each other. He knew every single detail of their lives and she had a feeling that the boys would run to him first whether it was good news or bad news. He wasn't the type to dictate other people's life. Instead, he shaped the boys through gentle persuasion. 

He reminded her of her mother. 

But even though there was no hostility between the two they still somehow managed to escalate the bickering. Tristan even had a spoonful of crème brulee ready to flick towards his brother. Fortunately, he had horrible aim and the dessert just landed on the tablecloth half way between. She was the first to laugh at that. Soon, they all couldn't stop laughing at the sight. 

Once the laughter ceased, the DuGrey patriarch immediately put a stop to the childish behavior. He stood up and put his napkin on the table. Rory started to pile the dirty plate together. 

"Rory, don't worry about that." Janlen told her. 

"It's no big deal. I feel like I should be doing something for all the great food that I was treated to." 

"Mary-Kate and Ashley here can clear the table." The twins immediately projected a pained and indignant look at the sound of that. "That's punishment for starting a food fight. Why don't you come with me to the library. I can show off my Dean Martin record and I can tell Marguerite to bring the coffee tray over." 

Tristan knew that it was his grandfather's way of requesting some alone time with Rory. That's why he held back his brother's protest and handed his grandfather his cane. Those two left the room with Rory holding onto Mr. DuGrey's arm like before. He whispered something to her and she laughed politely at that. The scene felt more natural than it should be. It was as if she was family all along. 

As they brought the dirty plates over to the kitchen, Christian told him, "I think grandpa adores her." 

"Good. You should see her earlier, she was so worried about her first impression." 

In the background, the music slowly soaked through the atmosphere and he smiled at the thought of those two enjoying each other's company. He felt delightfully proud for introducing her to his grandfather. 


	11. So, What Do you Have in Mind?

I guess you thought I was joking when I said I didn't have time to write when school starts huh? Well, I wasn't and I'm really sorry about the long wait. I think I want to address something that came up in the reviews about the references. I realize that this is a future fic and any references I put in will sound dated. But at the same time, I think it's almost unnatural for them to not make any type of cultural references especially with the tone of the show. Also, my friends and I still talked about our ancient crushes on Rick Springfield and John Stamos's Uncle Jesse (and his mullet) in Fullhouse. So I guess it's not _that_ impossible for them to have a few dated references.

**Spoiler**: I officially follow the show up till _A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving_. That's because Jess was an absolute ass after that point. But that is not to say I won't incorporate tiny facts from the show (i.e. Rory and Paris went to Yale) gleamed after that point.

**Disclaimer**: GG don't belong to me. I mean if they do and take my Tristan obsession into account, do you think Chad would've left the show in the first place? Geeze.

**Dedication**: To **Reeka**, of course, for being the supreme beta (and not the _Supremes_ beta, because I can't picture Diana Ross doing this) and ... well, seeing that I haven't updated for 4 months, the fact that you're sticking around to read it makes me brimming with tears, of joy. Oh yeah, this one is for you! Yes, _you_.

**Metamorphoses**

**11 - So ... What Do You Have in Mind?**

The first sensory input that Tristan experienced when he woke up was warmth. Warmth, as in heat radiated from the warm body sleeping next to him. Even more specifically, comforting warmth on the left side of his body and ... a contrasting coolness on the other side. He reluctantly craned his neck around and was greeted with the sight of Rory's head and her nestling against him within his arms. He was pretty tired to move his neck any further, but that hand that was currently sitting on time of his chest no doubt belonged to her as well. The entire mass of pale blue sheets was bunched up around her waist. Which easily explained why half of his body was freezing to death.

He tried jogging his memory. But it seemed to have imitated the reception of a very old television set. Black and white, full of static, constant stuttering, and a few of the key events were conveniently replaced by periodic gaps. He needed to give his inner TV a few good whacks before it all came back to him.

There was drinking. A _lot_ of drinking. And at some point, presumably after the drinking, his grandfather insisted that he and his brother should stay here overnight. A decision no doubt influenced by the copious amount of drinking ... or was it vice versa. _Any_ways, after being convinced that she should stay overnight as well, she had abandoned her previous objective of being the sober driver to haul the boys' collective asses home. Rory then agreed to imbibe a bit of cognac as well. But he doubt the prim and proper Rory got as drunk as either of them.

Strangely, he didn't feel as embarrassed as he should for getting drunk before his grandfather. Perhaps this was a good indicator of their easygoing relationship.

He remembered the four of them talking. But the details and the topic were a bit hazy. He might've told Rory some more of Christian's embarrassing stories, he even might've told her some of his _own_ embarrassing stories. He wasn't sure. Because honestly, of all the people there last night, he was the least likely one to keep track of their topics. But he did remember that the three of them remained in the library long after gramp retired to bed, telling them that he no longer had the youth or stamina to stay up late.

He assumed that Rory eventually had had enough and dragged the twins to their respective guest bedrooms. He knew it because Chris consumed way more alcohol than he did and there's no way he could have made it to his room on his own. And somewhere between the library and the bed, he managed to change out of his clothes and throw on a T-shirt. Once more, the details were a bit hazy. Perhaps Rory helped him on that as well.

Which brings him to the present. He once more looked at the top of her head. He could feel her chest rising rhythmically, synchronizing with her slow and steady breathing. A wet patch on his shoulder indicated that she might be drooling on him. She had changed out of her clothes as well and was wearing a black tank top and pajama pants. She probably found them tucked away in one of the numerous drawers. Placed there in anticipation of impromptu sleepovers.

This is an entirely foreign feeling for him. It would be presumptuous, and wrong, to assume that he never woken next to a girl before. He did, numerous times, especially when he forgot to sneak out in the middle of the night. But to wake up next to somebody after a night of ... plain REM sleep, now _that's_ new.

On top of that, Tristan had never waked up next to Rory before, another first for him. Despite his preceding reputation, they had yet to sleep together. Their relationship so far had been consisted of many lighthearted sparring, numerous passionate kisses, and some double entendres.

Don't be mistaken though, there was definitely an intimate spark between them. But it wasn't as if they ever approached the topic of sex. The closest was that one time when she absentmindedly joked about his promiscuous history. But she caught herself and they quickly pretended she had never mentioned that.

Not that he didn't want to sleep with her. He was, after all, a man, and the frequency of him bestowing his thoughts on the topic of sex was very close to the national average. But he just didn't want to rush her. This was, after all, Rory Gilmore and he did spend an inordinate amount of time calling her Mary. Albeit 10 years ago. Even after all these years, he still had trouble envisioning her as anything beyond that.

Speaking of the devil, he was sure that she was awake by now. It was a rather big non-verbal clue as her hand slipped underneath his shirt and was leisurely tracing his flat abs. Her feather light touches would be downright seductive if it were anybody else. But coming from Rory, she managed to convey a hint of innocence to it as well. Nonetheless, this still didn't prevent his blood from rushing towards one region of his body.

Suddenly that other half didn't feel so cold anymore.

"Are you awake?" He asked. He'd like to believe that the hoarseness of his voice originated from a night of hard drinking and not a response to her gesture.

"Um hmm." Her head remained where it was on his shoulder. She didn't look up.

"So. What happened last night?"

"You and Christian got piss drunk." She looked up and stifled a giggle. There was a certain lazy and satisfied quality to her gaze that amused him. Rory was sporting the quintessential bedroom eyes.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to feel the effects pretty soon." He used his free hand to massage his forehead. "What else?"

"The two launched into an argument on who is the best ghostbuster."

It seems that they had picked up where they left off. "I can't believe we were still arguing about that."

"You seemed to have developed an intense fixation on Dan Aykroyd."

"Because I loved his performance in The Blues Brothers. You know that he, not John Belushi, wrote the script." She crooked one of her eyebrows to indicate that she already knew that. "We both used to like Aykroyd better. But then Chris saw _Lost in Translation_ and went ape shit for Bill Murray. Which is stupid because while I admit that Bill Murray was very good in _Lost in Translation_, that movie happened nearly 20 years after _Ghostbusters_, and you couldn't assume the Bill Murray of 2003 is comparable to the Bill Murray of 1984."

"Wow, those exact same words are once more repeated less than 6 hours later. You're funny when you're drunk." He thought by "funny," she meant "weird." But she still managed to tease a smile out of her boyfriend.

"What are you plans for today?"

Rory had intended to rush home last night to see Jess off after the dinner. She hadn't heard from him since his phone call the day before. She knew he was justifiably peeved and was thinking of driving him to the airport to catch his 3:00 am flight. But one thing led to another and before she knew it, it was too late to rush home. His plane was probably somewhere above Mexico by now. She knew the guilt was going to hit her soon, but she refused to acknowledge it at this moment.

"I'm supposed to celebrate with Paris. She successfully defended her thesis."

"Offer her my congratulations when you see her."

"Sure. What about you?"

"Go home and nurse my freaking hangover."

"You look and sound alright."

"Well, I'm okay right now, but I can feel it coming up. I've been known to have delayed hangovers."

But even if he were having a monster headache right now, Tristan would be too distracted to notice it. Sometime during their conversation, Rory's hand had slipped south and was playing with the little tuff of hair between his bellybutton and the waistband of his boxers.

This time, the hoarseness of his voice could definitely be attributed to her. "Rory."

"Hmmm."

"Don't start something that you can't finish." Not that he had the right to say that as he was currently engrossed with the little black strap of her tank top, gently pulling and tugging it. Her freckled shoulder felt invitingly smooth under his caress.

"What make you think that I don't want to finish?" Those bedroom eyes that she gave him accompanied with this verbal clue nearly made him jump her. Right there. But then he remembered where they were.

"As much as I love you, we're in gramp's house and anyone can burst in."

"We can lock the door." She suggested playfully. Her hand never left that spot and now he needed to work twice as hard in order to pay attention to her words. Especially when her hand skimmed dangerously close to the waistband. Was it him or did her voice go throaty all of a sudden.

"What about your plans with Paris?"

"This is the part where you say, 'don't worry, it's going to be fast.'" She jokingly winked.

"That the thing. I don't intend to be fast ..." Before he could finish his sentence, he heard frantic knocking on the door. Despite that fact that the two were not engaged in anything more than heavy petting and they were still fully clothed, they still immediately sprang apart like two guilty teenager caught snogging in the high school utility closet. He quickly gave his mind a cold shower and a few minutes to compose himself. When Tristan opened the door, he was greeted by an eerily cheerful Christian.

"Thank god you're not naked!" He exclaimed in relief as if he was expecting otherwise. He then saw Rory's head peeking over Tristan's shoulder. "Morning Rory!" Rory said hi and mumbled something along the lines of "bloody perky" before excusing herself to go brush her teeth.

"See what I don't understand is that we're twins, as in genetically identical at every level. How is it possible that we consume the same amount of wine and you don't get hangovers." Even though the details were hazy to him, he was pretty sure that his brother was just as drunk as him last night. Tristan leaned against the doorframe exasperatedly.

"I partied so much that I developed an immunity to it."

"I partied too!" He protested.

"You used to. Keyword: 'used to,' as in ten years ago. Anyway, I'm not here to debate which of us is more experienced in debauchery. Which, by the way if such debate ever come up, since I do not work in a museum, I would automatically win the debate by default."

"Do you even have a point?" That delayed hangover didn't seemed to be so delayed now that Christian's incessant prattling was accelerating his headache. He lightly banged his head against the doorframe.

"I'm coming to that. The point is," he paused for dramatic effect. "I need a ride home."

"Didn't you drive here?"

"My car broke down and I have an appointment at noon."

"See, I _told_ you the engine of your car is shot. But noooo, you're not going to believe me and you went ahead and bought the car."

"It's a vintage MGA roadster! How can I pass that up!" While Tristan might've out grown the unofficial Dugrey mantra of fast girl, fast car, and fast life, Christian had yet to reach that point. Maybe he was no longer into the fast girls and the fast life, but there will always be a fast car. A _hot_ fast car.

"By looking underneath the hood." He said as if he was trying to explain a very simple concept to a small child.

"Stop giving me a lecture. Grandpa gave me one already. Anyways, can you give me a ride home?"

"Sure, why not."

"Thanks, I'll see you at the breakfast table." He saw Rory coming out of the bathroom before he turned around to leave. She had changed into her original clothes and looked a lot more refreshed than 5 minutes ago. "You better come down before Marguerite goes overboard at decorating your pancakes. There's already a blueberry smiley face, god forbid what else she's going to put on it." Then he left in a hurry, practically flew down the stairs.

"Your brother is umm ... what's the term that I'm looking for ..."

"Really really weird."

She had to agree with him on that. "And hyper." Rory thought she should point out the obvious as well while they were at it.

Though neither of them said it out loud, they silently acknowledged that something was going to happen had Christian not interrupted them. And they both wanted to continue that. Soon. But preferably when there was a 15 mile distance between them and Christian or any other types of interruptions.

But for now, she couldn't wait to taste the pancakes. If last night's lamb chops were of any indication ... oh boy!

* * *

It was Sunday morning when he found himself sitting in a surprisingly empty café. Tristan and Rory usually came here on Saturdays as part of their weekend routine. But since they were still at his grandfather's place this time yesterday, their routine was postponed to today. As usual, he was the first to be there. He was famished so he went ahead and gleefully dug into his waffles despite her absence. Rory finally poked her head into the café when he was half way through.

For the lack of a better description, Rory looked like ... shit.

"What happened?" He asked in an affectionately concerned manner and held her hand on the table. The waitress, seeing the familiar sight of her regular customer, silently placed the coffee and a plate of French toast in front of her.

"I was running low on sleep from Friday night already. And Paris's version of 'celebration' is a lot of daiquiris and us renting all the movies that has the word 'Exorcist' in it. Let me tell you, alcohol, _The Exorcist_ and a leaky faucet does not make a good night of sleep." She flailed her arms around to accentuate her frustration. If there wasn't a plate of French toasts before her, she would probably plop her face onto the table as well.

As she was going on about the combined evils of faulty plumbing and the despicable setting of the second _Exorcist _movie, she let out a ginormous sneeze. "Oh yeah, and I think I might be coming down with a cold too." She whined.

"Here, have some of my orange juice."

She looked at him like he told her that King Kong was perched on top of the Empire States Building. "Ummm, no thinks. Coffee tastes weird after I drink orange juice." She offered a perfectly logical explanation.

"Well, if you're really coming down with a cold, you should load up on vitamin C. And guess what, orange juice is chock full of it. Maybe you should drink that instead of coffee."

"Coffee _is_ my vitamin C." Her affirmative tone indicated that this isn't even up for discussion. She was awfully stubborn when it came to her stance on caffeine. "Anyways, I'll just load up on cold medication and act miserable for the rest of the week."

"You know what. Instead of going to the movies like the rest of the Memorial Day crowd, why don't you go home and have a nice nap. You'll probably feel a lot better if you can finally catch up on some sleep."

"I know this sound awfully childish, but that leaky faucet is bothering me." As if Rory could anticipate his response. "Yes, even in broad daylight"

"Okay. How about you go to my place. I have a perfectly comfortable bed that you can sleep in. We'll load you up on echinacea and chicken soup and I can get your faucet fixed so you can actually sleep tonight."

"That offer sounds very attractive in my head. I think I might take you up on that."

"Good. Now have some of my orange juice." He ignored her protests as he swapped her coffee for his orange juice, added way too much sugar for her preference, and proceed to drink it. "Look, if you're going to take a nap, there's no point in drinking in coffee." He didn't even have to look up to see her impressive pout in combination with bambi eyes. "And be careful, your face might freeze like that."

"You sounded like Emily." She momentarily took up her mother's tone before she agreed with his logic and dug into her French toasts.

* * *

When Rory woke up later that day, it took her a moment to realize that she was not in her own bed. A situation that was entirely too familiar for her own good. Hopefully this wouldn't turn into a routine. As she became more awake, she recognized that it was late in the afternoon and there was only a setting sun to illuminate her surroundings. She couldn't believe she managed to sleep away a good chunk of the afternoon. Tristan was right though, she did feel a lot better now.

She took little notice of Tristan's living space when she first set foot in his apartment. Rory thought she remembered seeing a minimally decorated living room and a lot of white furniture accented with chrome. Perhaps there were a few potted plants, possibly fake. But she was too grumpy to take a closer look. While she wasn't an avid reader of Architecture's Digest, she could tell he was aiming more towards modern minimalism than say, Provencal France.

It was her first time here. Frankly, it was rather strange that she had never been to his place. He had been to her place plenty of time for movie nights or when he picked her up before dates. But they usually avoided that when Jess was in town. Instead, they would go to restaurants, movies, museums, the park, ... or some other equally neutral public territory. Just not his place.

Rory rolled around in the comfortably luxurious white sheets. If her guess was correct, it was probably of pretty high thread count. That man sure knew how to pick them. There was a small bookcase and an overstuffed armchair tucked at the opposite corner of the room. Beside it were shelves of CDs and a wall-mounted stereo. Not surprisingly, silver is the ongoing accent colour of this room as well.

The noises in the next room suddenly stopped and she saw Tristan poked his head into the bedroom. "Hey, you're awake." He approached her. She shifted over a bit so he could sit beside her.

"Yeah. I guess I'm just exhausted rather than coming down with a cold. I hate having a cold." She wrinkled her nose in detest as she said the last part. "I guess I'm just exhausted from all these festivities."

"You do look much better than this morning. I almost thought that you were the one having a delayed hangover."

Lying on her side and swathed in his bedspreads, she looked positively radiant and well rested. The sheets were only up till her underarms and he could make out her warm, soft body underneath it. He resisted the temptation to gently trace his fingers along her gentle curves. Suddenly, the scene from yesterday morning danced vividly before his eyes.

"I don't know, it sure felt like one." She didn't make an effort to sit up. His bed was simply too comfortable and she snuggled against the pillow. She slipped her hand into his and he gently held it. "What's that? It smells nice."

"I made you chicken soup. It's been stewing for a while now."

"You can cook?" She asked incredulously.

Yep." He shrugged. "I also can make my bed properly. You learn to be self sufficient when you go to military school." Tristan didn't mind it so much now. In hindsight, he was probably a better person because of that. But back then, he wasn't so accepting of the idea. He really thought that military school was the most humiliating and ridiculous punishment possible. Which was probably the point of it.

"So you can cook and you own more Yves St. Laurent suit than most straight men would admit to. Careful there mister, I might start to think of you as a metrosexual." She teased, knowing full well that he hated that label. Mainly because people kept telling him that.

"Oh please." He rolled his eyes. "I think my brother is the real metrosexual of the family. I work in a museum. A bit somber for that, don't you think? Only dorks work in a museum."

"Nah, don't worry. I don't think you're a real metrosexual anyways. If I'm going to tack a title on you, you could be ..." she lightly drummed her fingers on her chin. "How about a Renaissance man?"

"Renaissance man huh. I have to admit I like the sound of that better." He swept her hair to the side of her face. His other hand was still holding hers and his thumb was tracing little circles on her palm. "But alas, I don't deserve that title."

"Why not?"

"A real Renaissance man would've fixed your faucet."

"Wait. You didn't?" Rory panicked. She wasn't kidding when she said that she couldn't sleep with the dripping faucet revoking the horror moments in _The_ _Exorcist_.

"Nope. _I_ didn't. I got a plumber." Once he tucked her into bed and made sure that she was soundly asleep, he took her keys and went to her place. Knowing that he was no Home Depot material, he smartly called ahead for a plumber. "And please don't make any butt crack jokes, I've heard enough from the plumber himself." He sighed as if he wanted to erase that 30 minutes from his life forever.

"So you fixed my faucet, cured my cold, made me chicken soup and put my life back on track. How can I thank you."

"Well I can't take credit for the cold-curing if you didn't even have a cold to begin with."

"But for the rest of it ..." She pulled his neck down and kissed him. It started out as a sweet kiss, but then the emotions escalated. It became a dizzying kiss that sent chills down his spine. Her tongue savagely attacked his, conveying some sort of carnal lust to him. It was a kiss that said to him perhaps he should cancel all of his plans tomorrow, because he would be spent when she was finally done with him

She always thought that with him being the more experienced between the two of them, he would be the one to bring up the subject of sex. But he never did. Deep inside, she thought it was rather ridiculous that he thought of her as this pristine little creature that never heard of sex. She knew he wanted to sleep with her and the only thing stopping him was a stupid nickname from 10 years ago and the image that came along with it.

It was about time to end this stalemate and take matters into her own hands.

"I think I know what you're doing. Are you sure?" His face was so close that when he talked, his lips brushed against hers. Despite his question, she knew he wanted it. She had a rather big non-verbal clue pressed firmly against her.

"Why not? I wanted to." She smiled coyly. "You have to stop thinking of me as a Mary. I'm not 16, I'm 27. I'm old enough to be exposed to a lot of things. You don't need to shield my delicate sensibilities as if I've never done this before. Heck, maybe I even picked up a few _moves_ on my way." She winked when she added that last part.

After digesting the meaning behind her comment, he flashed her a wolfish grin, "Well in that case ..."


	12. Me? What the Hell do You Think You're D

Okay, this is one of those good news/bad news occasions. On the bright side, I updated ... yay! On the urm ... not so bright side, I'm going off to Europe during the summer (in fact, I might be gone by the time you review this) so it' going to be another 2 month wait till the next chapter. But don't worry, I'm going straight back to the writing table when I'm back. I promise! In fact, my slow updating in the past was not due to my lack of attention, but my inability to find time to write down my ideas. Once I have some time, I'll promise to update.

Sorry!

**Disclaimer**: Gilmore Girls do not belong to me. I don't see how you could've come to that conclusion.

**Dedication**: To **Reeka** (for being my PIC. Together we can't wait to see the crack team of Lex and Big Tom on TAR) and **Kou Shun'u**. The fact that you decided to read my stories and decided to leave a review at every single opportunity warms my fanfic writer heart. The fanfiction community can definitely use more of your kind of dedicated reviewers. I cannot express my gratitude enough. Thank you! wipes away tears of joys

**Metamorphoses **

**12 - _Me?_ What the Hell do _You_ Think You're Doing?**

Tristan went to work on Tuesday reasonably relaxed and optimistic. While the long weekend was undoubtedly eventful, he was also full of restless energy dedicated to his project. _His _project. He liked the way that rolled around his tongue. He was felt unnaturally proud of it despite that he had only been on it for a month and could hardly call it an accomplishment. But he was there from the moment he hatched the idea and had run with it. He felt justified when he couldn't talk of his project _his_ project in anything other than an overtly protective manner.

He kept telling anybody who was willing to listen that this was like giving birth. But of course this wasn't like giving birth. For one, he was a man, and a man had no business knowing what giving birth was really like. Also, it's rather absurd to compare a museum _project_ with a baby. Nonetheless, Tristan never let those pesky details distract him from using his analogy.

He just finished re-sorting a pile of slides with Kevin poked his head into his office.

"Hey Tris, got a minute?"

"Yeah." He meticulously slipped the slides into a binder while Kevin took a seat.

"How's that coming along?"

"Pretty good. Elle and I drawn up a preliminary list of the displays we wanted to include in the exhibit. Some of those belonged to the Met and it is a matter of re-sorting them. But there are a few from the Canadian National Gallery, The Prado, and The Lourve that I would really want to include as part of this."

"So you've done the majority of the planning."

"Yep. The next stage is to see if we can arrange some sort of exchange project with those museums." That was an unmistakable gleam in. Despite him having a BA background and that he would probably get a masters in fine arts had his father not gotten his way, there were times when he enjoyed his MBA education. Perhaps his father was right when he said that the DuGrey's were naturals when it came to making business deals. "The Canadians were eyeing one of our Degas and a Cézanne for their impressionist exhibition. I think I'm going to start with them."

"Good. Looks like everything is in control." Tristan, aside from his ongoing feud with Carmen Dowling, was generally an affable and efficient worker.

Which made this next part all the harder to say.

"Listen Tristan ..."

"Oh no. I hate it when people use that tone."

"What tone?"

"The tone that my grandpa used when he told me that Pongo died."

"Sorry ... who? What?"

"My grandpa's Dalmatian. She had a very sweet personality and she used to let me piggyback on her. She passed away when I was 6."

"Wait, a she? Shouldn't her name be Perdita?" Picking up on the obvious reference.

"She was a stray puppy and for the longest time my grandma thought she was a he. It didn't help the way her ears were black. By the time they realized their mistake, it was too late to change her name. Anyway, you were saying?"

"Right. Got carried away. I'm here to tell you that Elle will not be able to continue on this project."

"Is something wrong? Is she okay?"

"Oh no, she's fine. Actually, one of the missing Vermeer might have surfaced in Hong Kong. The trustees are interested in acquiring it if it is indeed an authentic Vermeer. Elle's expertise will be required over there."

"That would be great if it's real." He was excited for her. Elle had told him repeatedly that one of her goals was to find one of Vermeer's missing paintings. That goal was a lot harder than it sounded mainly because Vermeer only sign his works occasionally and his style varied so much that false hope were often given to a great imitator or nameless contemporaries.

"Well, she was one of the leading scholars in this area and the most qualified person that this organization could send."

"So who's taking her place? As much as I like it, it would be rather impossible for me to organize _Metamorphoses_ on my own."

"Sorry boy, I whish you understand how much I hate to do this." Kevin took a deep breath. A breath that implied the beginning of some sort of doomsday news to Tristan. "Carmen will officially take over Elle's involvement with this project."

"What! Her?" He scoffed.

"She was the only one free."

"How about Lisa?"

"She has a project going on at The Cloisters and it would be a great strain on her to have to go back and forth between here and there."

"What about Patrick?"

"He and Anne are supervising the restoration of the Titian."

"Okay ... what about Lucy?"

"She's going on maternity leave by the end of the month. It would be a hassle for her to work on this for 4 weeks and then have a change of hands again."

"What about Remy?" Even he realized how ridiculous that suggestion sounded once he said it out loud. But to him, it still beat working with Carmen.

"Come on now, you and I both know that he was only here on exchange and he is going to be gone soon. Besides, he could hardly help you when it comes to negotiations. Admit it, Carmen is the best choice. She can be helpful at negotiations."

"I think you're mistaking 'negotiations' with 'throwing hissy fits.'" Tristan didn't mean to do this, but his disgruntled tone sliced through the air.

Kevin thought that, up till this moment, he was being reasonable. But enough was enough. As much as he loved the boy, his stubbornness would get him into trouble one of these days. To be honest, his hissy-fit skills were right there along with Carmen's. Even though he wasn't Tristan's boss, he had 5 years of expertise on him. He was not afraid to reprimand him as a friend and as somebody that was sick and tired of his petulant behavior.

"You know, I didn't have to tell you this. You could've gone to the next meeting and realize that Elle is on a plane bound for Hong Kong and Carmen took up her usual post. What I'm doing right now is giving you a heads up, a professional courtesy. I wish you can compose yourself and act in a semi-professional manner more suitable to your age. Maybe I'm not your boss, but let me warn you, if this kind of behavior continues don't be surprised when Michael take you out of this project." Kevin hated saying this, but the boy was due for a reality check. He needed to know that this little spat of theirs had to stop.

As expected, Tristan backed off. But his displeasure was still clearly there. "I'm sorry. I realize that I was out of line. It's just ..." he ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture that indicated his frustration, "Carmen and I don't exactly work well together."

"Then this is the perfect chance for you guys to start over. Maybe you guys will be friends once you know her better."

To avoid further confrontations, he didn't say what was on his mind when Kevin was sitting right across him. It wasn't until Kevin left his room and was at a great distance from his office did Tristan mutter, "I highly doubt that."

* * *

Meanwhile, across town Rory Gilmore was having a similar sort of work crisis. Albeit it really wasn't a full scale "crisis."

"Sorry Tim, let me just repeat what you said, or what I _think_ you've said, in simpler words and tell me if I'm wrong. You want me to step over to Judy's territory and do a profile on Blair McCain, the fashion designer." Her editor nodded. "Are you nuts?"

She had heard of Blair McCain. Or more correctly, she had seen his work. His latest handbag was declared the "it" accessory of this season and a ridiculous amount of people were spending way too much money on what was essentially an overhyped hobo bag. As a proof of its hit status, street vendors across town were selling counterfeit versions of it on every single street corner. She failed to see what all this fuss was about.

In addition, this story belonged to the fashion and style territory and Rory was definitely not accustomed to that world. She was used to writing things that were less glamorous, with less use of words like "hottest colour" or "Spring's new look." Jess probably read her Vogue a lot more often than her. That is after considering Jess wouldn't touch it even if he was paid to do so. It wasn't as if they actually had territories and departments for specific stories, but there must have been other people in this building who were more willing to write something so ... trivial.

"Judy's reporting is okay, but her profile stories were a bit weak. It felt too ... _USA Today_. I want somebody with more experience for this."

"So it's a profile story and not a fashion show review." She clarified. Not that she had anything against fashion shows, but in the grand scheme of things, she considered herself to be inexperienced and reluctant at writing that.

"No you silly. Fashion week isn't till September. You're probably going to hang around him for a day, observe what he does and make him open up to you. Besides, if I give you fashion show coverage, half of the girls will claw me to death!" A few of the girls already thought Tim displayed blatant favoritism towards Rory. To a certain degree, he admitted that it was true. But since she was one of his best writers, he did not hesitate to assign her on some of the juicer stories.

"Fine, I'll take it." She said as if she had a choice. "When is it due?"

"2 weeks." He handed her the file with the addresses and contact info. "And check up with Frankie. He's the photog for this. Mr. McCain is a busy guy and he prefers to have the photos taken during the interview."

"Okay."

"Rory, I can always rely on you. You're my best."

"Sure." She pretended to believe that. "I won't hesitate to quote you the next time I want a raise. Just a minor note though, people usually do the sweet talking _before_ I agree to go out of my way."

* * *

Tristan then embarked on one of the most stressful workweek he had ever experienced. Working with Carmen was as horrible as he expected. At first, they reluctantly stroke up a truce, pretending that their clashing ideologies won't be the root of any further arguments. Unfortunately, the truce was broken in a mere 3 hours when Tristan stated that they were not picking a certain painting that Carmen wanted over what he already had in mind.

He thought that since he and Elle had made up the preliminary list, Carmen should just deal with it rather than trying to make adjustments to it. Besides, in order for them to work within the deadline, they couldn't backtrack and spend any more time on changing the displays. To her, he was just not respecting her artistic input and was plain dissing her. Both were partially right and some of their points were valid. Perhaps these minor kinks could've been easily solved had they not approached each other with heavy blinders.

His life would've been better had Rory been around to talk to him and sooth his temper. But he could only get in touch with her voice mailbox every time he called her. The fact that she was out of reach irritated him more so than it should be.

It was Friday night and he was ready to go home and put away his work debacle for the next two days. But on his way him, he happened to run into somebody, literally.

"Tristan? Tristan Dugrey?" The girl asked hesitantly once they apologized in unison. "Is that you?" When she saw his perplexed look, she added, "It's me, Marci. Marci Beaumont. My father used to work with your father."

"Right!" He mocked recognition. Despite her brief introduction, he still had no idea who she was. He remembered the possibility of meeting a Mr. Beaumont during one of those stuffy Christmas functions back before military school. But he couldn't be sure. They all looked the same. Besides, he remembered his daughter as a short scrawny little thing that had these hideous braces. The young lady standing before him was hardly scrawny and definitely did not wear braces.

But she saw through him anyway. "That's okay, I didn't expect you to remember me. You didn't spend a lot of time mingling." What she was saying was that he basically only recognized girls with a lower IQ and higher cup size. Which was probably an apt description of him up till he was 17. He did spend the majority of his time making out with said girls.

"I remember you. My father mentioned that you went to Princeton. What were you taking?" He completely pulled that out of his ass and was hoping that he guessed right.

"Economics. I graduated last year."

"Are you working in the city?"

"Yeah. Hey, it's getting cold right now. Do you mind heading over to a bar or something to continue with this conversation. I know this place couple blocks down."

He shrugged. "Sure."

His didn't know why, but he agreed to this a lot easier than expected. As they walked towards the bar, he didn't even try to convince or justify what is essentially a date. Because to him, there was nothing out of the ordinary where a man and woman met up, had dinner, and engaged in subsequent mediocre conversations that came along with it. Just because he was a guy and she was a girl, it didn't make it a _date_.

* * *

It was day two of her interview. Initially, Rory was hoping to gather all the necessary material in one day. But that turned out to be impossible. There were a few minor incidents and the guy came across as a little stuck up. She found it rather difficult to direct any substantial questions and receiving an equally honest and substantial answer. But it turned out that he was just camera shy. A camera-conscious fashion designer, who knew _those _existed. In any case, she and Frankie managed to loosen him up a bit and by the end of the day, the man acted more naturally towards the two interlopers.

She went up to his studio again on Friday to finish the second half of the interview. This time, not only was he more talkative, he insisted on her calling him Blair and even showed her sketches of his older designs ("not that I don't trust you darling, but you'll just have to wait with the rest of them to see my new collection.") She had a feeling that the man wasn't exactly an introvert, but rather, he needed time to get to know strangers. Unfortunately, this also meant that they spent a lot of time getting off-topic in the guise of warming up.

Rory was going to arrange a third interview with him, but he told her that he was flying to Paris next evening ("the couture house need my new sketches so they can start working.") He gracefully suggested that they could extend their interview over dinner ("just this little place uptown where the DJ spins the most awesome tunes.") Though her professional side resisted the idea of dining with her subject, her journalistic side told her this would be the perfect opportunity to ask him the more personal questions. At least he would be comfortable in his own element. So she agreed to dinner with him.

Blair was even chattier over dinner. He also sprinkled his conversations with enough swear words that would make any native New Yorker proud. She admitted that he was painting a more favorable image of himself as she spent more time with him. Her initial impression of him was being slowly replaced with this nicer and more realistic version. Perhaps this profile story would turn out better than she hoped.

Over dinner, he told her where he came from ("Harlem"), what he had been through ("fucking LVMH told me that my stuff was too 'experimental.' Translation: we're firing yo ass because we can't sell enough of your shit to make a profit"), his original aspirations ("I was trained to be a concert pianist, but the whole plan failed when I didn't get into Julliard.") He was quite popular, as proven by the many people that stopped by their table.

And soon enough, dinner was over and under his insistence, she ordered the house special dessert ("My friend said it looks as good as it tastes. I wouldn't know though. Never tried it myself.") Rory couldn't help but give a faint squeak of appreciation when the elaborately decorated chocolate cake was placed before her. Unlike her, Blair opted to skip the desserts.

"This is very good." She said as she ate the dessert, careful not to devour the cake excitedly and embarrass herself in front of him. "You sure you don't want some?"

"Fucking Atkins." He grumbled.

"Well, your loss." She spooned some of the white chocolate syrup over a little corner of the cake.

"What the hell, fuck the diet. Hand over the cake." He mock commanded as he picked up the dessert fork and took a generous chunk of her cake. "It _is_ good."

She let him finish the rest of the dessert as she formulated her last question in her head. By then, she felt like it was the right time to ask him one of her more sensitive questions:

"Are you afraid of getting horrible reviews than can potentially end your career? After all, the fashion business is notoriously competitive and there are always new and ambitious guys graduating from St. Martins thinking they can carve their niche out of your market share. On top of that, the critics can be quite fickle and can turn the entire world on you. How can you deal with that prospect?"

"You know what, the way I see it, fuck those retards. The first step to success in this business is confidence. You have to believe that you are the best. Your design is the best. I have a proven record of producing the best cutting and using the best material. I know I'm not producing junk that doesn't fit the body properly. Here's an example. Some people see pencil skirts as librarian. What I'm trying to do is to convince them that with the proper cutting, a pencil skirt can make you look like a femme fatale. It's a matter of interpretation and getting them to believe that my stuff is desirable."

"Well, I never see it as that." She admitted.

"That's why you're not in fashion. How about I put this in your terms. As a journalist, I'm sure you've come across negative reviews. It's a matter of how you approach those reviews. You can't let yourself mope. You stand up and throw them your next best shot," he said with an air of authority while washing down his final bite of the cake with a bit of wine.

Rory thought of the discouraging sight of her first rough draft when she started working at the New York Times. Her pristine draft was basically covered with red marks. If her heart was any weaker, she probably would have quit on the spot.

"Besides, if worse comes to worse, I can always get myself hired on a second rate cruise ship and play jazz standards for a living."

"I don't have a fall back like you. I'm a born and trained journalist."

"You ever modeled?" He gave her an appreciative glance that made her a tad squeamish.

"No. My one track mind had always made me pursue journalism." Besides, she didn't think too highly of a job where she essentially got photographed for wearing sequined panties or fur-trimmed bikinis.

"Too bad, I'm sure you can get famous with that face of yours. You know what, if those assmonkeys ever fire you, you can come to me. My spring campaign can use a fresh face."

Sensing a possible way to change the uncomfortable topic, Rory grabbed the chance, "Spring? You meant fall campaign right?"

"No. The stuff that I'm working for, that was for the spring collection ..."

* * *

Unfortunately for Tristan, his dinner partner was less charming. The conversation took a turn for the worse, to a point where he barely listened to her. And whenever he paid attention to the words coming out of her mouth, all he could hear was "Blah blah blah, Merrill Lynch, blah blah, trust funds, blah blah, IPO ..." In addition to being a horribly boring conversationalist, the girl is quite touchy. Tristan had more than once gently pushed her hand off his arm.

He discretely scanned the restaurant while feigning interest in whatever she had to say. Suddenly, he recognized that the person sitting in a dark corner across the room was none other than Rory, the girlfriend that he was trying to get in touch with for these couple of days with no avail. The initial excitement of discovery quickly turned sour as he took notice of the man sitting beside her.

He now ignored the girl before him completely and concentrated his attention on Rory. The dim lighting of the room didn't deter him from instantly recognizing her dinner date. That was none other than Blair McCain, the hot new New York designer that had currently made it to _People_'s list of 50 most beautiful people. His slow, measuring stare towards the man was quite obvious to his dinner companion. Soon, Marci and him split the bill and she left. She probably saw him as a lost cause. He barely noticed her disappointment.

An unfound jealousy spread through him when he saw her sharing a plate of dessert with him. He didn't know why. He thought he trusted Rory. At least he was trying to convince himself of that exact notion right now. But that trust had never traveled beyond a series of hypothetical situations limited to his imagination. That trust was never tested in a real life situation before. He always assumed that if there was one charmingly handsome man in her company, that man would automatically be him.

His self-restraint finally reached its limit when he distinctly saw the man checking Rory out in a not so discreet manner. He threw down his napkin with more force than necessary and marched towards her. Rory was shocked when he appeared behind her shoulder, but her upbringing prevented her from displaying her annoyance.

"Can I have a word with you?" He didn't bother to lean down to whisper in her ear. Even though Tristan's voice was barely audible over the music, she could still hear his irritation.

"Can you wait a minute?" Her irritation easily matched his.

"No." Then he stalked away from them and exited from the restaurant.

This put Rory in a very difficult situation. While she had technically already asked Blair all the necessary questions and she really had no reason to dawdle any longer, that was an entirely different matter than abandoning him in order to chase down her boyfriend. She would probably break all of the journalism rules that her very expensive college taught her. In the mean time, though he had never seen Tristan's temper, this was the worst she had ever seen and she didn't want to make it even worse.

Sensing her dilemma, he offered, "Go. Dinner is on me."

"I can't let you do that. We should split the tab."

"Don't worry. I come here often enough that the owner adores me. Besides, I mentioned this spot in an interview once. He was so grateful of the free publicity that I practically eat here for free. So don't worry. Go after him."

She found it quite humiliating that her personal life had stepped over to her professional life and that this stranger had to witness this. But nonetheless, she was grateful for his offer. Because in truth, judging by his tone, she didn't think that Tristan would still stick around by the time she got the bill.

"Thank you very much. Hey, the next time you see me, dinner's on me. Good luck in Paris." She yelled as she hurried away from the table. There went another rule.

Outside, she saw Tristan inside his car. Tristan was being irrationally irritated and for once, she didn't know how to deal with it. Was he mad? Was he _jealous_? He shouldn't be. A part of her felt guilty, but the other half told off that other half and told her that she did nothing wrong. She was taming her inner battle when she ducked into his car. Maybe they just need to talk about it

Any expectations of a civil conversation were immediately eliminated when Tristan said, "What the hell do you think you are doing?" His voice was harsher than ever.

She felt her anger swelling up and retorted, "_Me_? What the hell did you think _you_'re doing? It was so humiliating back in the restaurant. I can't believe you did that in front of Blair." She vaguely realized that he was driving her home.

"Oh, so it's _Blair_ now. If I remember correctly, you didn't think that highly of him before. What were you doing having dinner with him?"

"That's work! The paper is doing a profile story on him. And in case you don't know, journalists have to interview people in order to write the stories. _I_'m the person interviewing him. This is what I do for a living! When did you start having a problem with it?"

"Strange, I didn't see your recorder out. You call that _working_?" Tristan was not backing down from this argument.

"I didn't need one. The recorder would just pick up background noise. Besides, I have a fully functional brain for me to memorize things. Unlike yours, which is having trouble regulating your hormones." She huffed. "This is what this is about isn't it, jealousy. You're jealous."

She was seething mad. His choice of music probably didn't help either. Maroon 5 was in no condition at soothing her anger. Normally, she would reject listening to such drivel. But she only had the energy to deal with one thing at a time.

He sidestepped that comment. Instead, he asked, "Why isn't your phone on? I was trying to find you for days."

"I always turn my phone off during interviews. You know that! Here's an update. You don't own me. I don't have to report my activities to you. I can do whatever I want and I certainly do not need _your_ permission in order to properly do my job!"

"Funny. I didn't know that your job description includes you gallivanting off with other men."

"Tristan Marcus Dugrey, you better not have meant what I just heard." She didn't know if she was overreacting or if he was being a jerk, but did he just imply ... _that_? "You are being very unreasonable." She folded her arms across her chest. "Why are you listening to this rubbish." She leaned over and turned down the volume.

He immediately turned it up, even louder than before. "Typical." He muttered.

"Excuse me."

"Your holier than thou attitude is making me sick. My music choice doesn't need the approval of your royal highness. You know what, I like Maroon 5. Oh by the way, I also like John Mayer, Christina Aguilera, and even No Doubt. Hell, I even listen to Weezer's green album! You know what's worse about this? It's that I have to feel ashamed of my music choice around you, even though there is nothing to be ashamed of!"

"What I have is music taste. Something that your CD collection is sorely lacking." She turned down the music.

"You may think you have 'music taste,' but that doesn't mean you have to lord it over me. God, you're such a snob!" He turned up the music.

Her anger precipitated through all this time and that was the last straw. "Stop! Pull over!"

"Hey I can't ..."

She didn't care. This was probably the first time in her life where she had gotten this mad. She acted out her frustration when Tristan refused to pull over, on account that the street was lined with parallel parked cars, and interrupted his sentence, "Tristan, if you want all your limbs attached to you by the end of the day, you better pull over!" There was a slow burning rage in her tone. When he finally found a spot, she didn't wait till the car had come to a complete stop before she hopped out.

"What are you doing?" If she had bothered to listen, she might have heard the hint of regret and concern in his voice. But frankly, she was fucking pissed.

"I'm going to walk home."

"Rory!"

"Oh, I'll just leave you along. Don't let my 'pretentious' music taste distract you from listening to Avril." She slammed the door of the car so hard that he could feel the vibrations it caused. Rory then stalked off. Tristan wanted to get out of the car and chase after her. But then the rational side of his brain finally kicked in, for the first time tonight, and reminded him that she probably needed some time to cool down.

He slumped over the steering wheel and rested his head on it. They _both_ probably needed some time to cool down.


	13. What Just Happened?

A character for everybody. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Gilmore Girls. Just like I do not own Adam Brody.

**Metamorphoses**

**13 - What Just Happened?**

It was raining.

The heavy rain pelted harshly against the window, somewhat matching her melancholy mood. The weather had been like this for most of the day. She knew for the sake of her mental stability, she should get out of her house and just _do _something. But she hated going out in this kind of rain. Her hair would clump together and her soaked shoes would create that irritating squishy sound. So she remained indoors.

She sighed. On the pseudo-bright side, at least she found something to do. She finally found the time to edit Paris's thesis.

She normally would catch a movie with Tristan or go to his place for dinner on a Saturday night like this one. But tonight ... well, they hadn't talked to each other for a week and whenever she thought of calling him, she would be reminded of his irrational accusations. No way in hell was she going to make the first move when he was acting like the arrogant prick that he was.

So she waited.

She was going to replace her usual routine and take her mind off of him by inviting Paris over for daiquiris and a therapeutic junk food binge. But Paris said it all depended if she could worm away from some boring date. That guy that she went on a blind date with weeks ago actually asked her out again ... despite the fact that neither of them had had a good time. Paris suspected that both her mother and his mother were behind this.

She was growing frustrated.

The editing itself wasn't the source of the problem. The problem was that it was taking up too much time. Aside from it being excruciatingly long, Tolstoy long, her scattered concentration could be attributed to her slow burning frustration. She would work long enough to underline the awkward phrasings or circle out some careless typo. But soon enough, she would find herself unwittingly engaged in a one-sided staring contest with the phone.

Maybe she was waiting for the phone to ring. Maybe she kept contemplating calling him. Whatever the reason might be, she sure spent a lot of time staring at her phone.

She stuck out her tongue at the phone. Really, it's getting extremely pathetic. More so than David Spade's "career."

She finally had enough of it and threw down her pen. She was obviously not getting any work done. She tried to call Paris and see if she was going to come or not. But all she got was a prerecorded message telling her that she was unavailable. Oh well, she was probably not going to come. Paris always switched off her phone during dinner dates.

She didn't want to stay in this apartment. She needed some sort of human interaction and she sure as hell wasn't getting any from her electric pencil sharpener.

There was only one place to go.

Stars Hollow.

* * *

Christian had to wander around his Grandfather's property for 5 minutes until he finally found Tristan. His mountain bike was propped up against a tree and he was sitting on the ground next to it. Beads of sweat stuck to his face and trickled down his nose in an entirely unflattering manner. But that didn't seem to bother Tristan much. Instead, what bothered him was a rather large and fresh wound on his elbow. Tristan was busy cleaning it up when his brother approached him.

"Hey, Grandpa said I might find you here. How are you?"

Tristan stop prodding his elbow and shrugged, "I've been better."

"Trouble?" Although it was meant as a question, Christian said it as if he knew the answers already.

"I'm fine," he replied tersely.

"Yeah right. And Dubya found WMD in Iraq."

Tristan took off his helmet and tossed it at the general direction of the bike. "How do you know?"

"It's the twin psychic connection thing. Also, you only do intense mountain biking when you're really stressed." He pointed out his freshly acquired scar. "And when you bike under stress, you do stupid things and get yourself hurt. It's all elementary, my dear Watson."

"Hey, this is how I deal with it. Just like you play the piano, a tad too angrily if I may add, when you're stressed." He lay flat on the grass.

"To each their own." Christian took up the spot next to him and sat down. "You want to talk about it?"

He shrugged once more. "No. Not really." He pulled up a blade of grass and toyed with it.

"Well, _I_ have something to tell you then." He launched into his story while ignoring the obvious disinterest of Tristan. "Guess who I met yesterday. Marci Beaumont." That name had an immediate effect on Tristan. Even though he attempted to hide it, Christian saw the minute movement that showed he got Tristan's full attention. "I was having lunch at The Sugarbowl when she came up to me, apologized about the bad date 'we' had and wondering if 'we' could give it a second chance.

"At first, I thought, hmm, I have absolutely no recollection of this person before me. But that's not entirely unusual for me to forget a girl's name. Sometimes I have trouble keeping track of them all. So, we exchanged our numbers and now I have a hot date for tomorrow night. Oh, and here's the good part. After she left, I gave her much more thought and an idea occurred on me. She didn't go on a date with _me_. She went on a date with _you_.

"And now, my question is, what the hell were you thinking when you went on a date with her?" His last sentence was akin to a slap to the back of his brother's head.

"I didn't realize it was a 'date" until I thought about it later. I just saw it as two people having dinner together when I first agreed to it." To his credit, he did say that with a smidge of remorse.

"You're being stupid. I thought you're way past dating 5 different girls at once." He admonished, "Rory is a good girl. She deserves better treatment. You know, you can be such a dick sometimes." He knew he was being harsh, but Tristan deserved it. Besides, he had grown attached to Rory and felt like standing up for her.

"Thanks. I think I can come to that conclusion on my own," he replied sarcastically. There was something fiercely ironic about the way his brother, of all people, was preaching to him the virtues of monogamy. But he knew Chris was right, so he didn't bother to come up with a smartass rebuttal.

"I'm guessing that Rory wasn't too happy with this new development in your relationship."

"We had a fight. Full scale yelling, car door smashing kind of fight."

"Ouch."

"You want to hear the ironic part." Tristan allowed himself a sardonic laugh. "Our fight wasn't about Beaumont. I got pissed because I saw her interviewing Blair McCain over dinner and I jumped to the wrong conclusions. I don't think she even _knew_ about Marci Beaumont."

"Once more, you're a dick."

"You need to come up with a new adjective," he agreed exasperatedly.

"Don't worry, I'm sure Rory has numerous creative adjectives for you right now." He too lay down, mimicking his brother's pose.

"I'm so scared of losing her that I didn't even see my own double standards."

"Okay, so you obviously know the root of your problem and obviously admit to being wrong. Why don't you just call her, apologize, and go back to sucking each other's faces ... or whatever you do when the two of you are together."

"Because it's not that simple. She said something and I said something and now it's just a huge mess." He threw away the piece of grass and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's kinda hard to explain this to a man who never had a long term relationship."

"You don't need to explain to me. You just need to talk about it out loud with somebody and luckily, I'm all ears."

"This fight, it gave me some time and distance to think about us. I notice things about Rory that I've overlooked during these past months and I don't know what to make of it. She seems to be ... different." He thought for a while before coming up with a word that loosely described his findings.

"Elaborate on 'different?'"

"It's just, aside from being a New York Times writer, she's not what I imagined. She isn't deadly addicted to coffee like some sort of demented junkie, her hair doesn't smell like strawberries or vanilla, and she actually had a debut, complete with the skirts and gloves." Oh and the sex was mind-blowing, but he wasn't going to tell his brother that. "I feel like I'm dating this person, who is, by the way, awesome and nice and charming on her own account, but it felt different than the Rory Gilmore that I had in mind. What happened to Mary?"

Christian, in a surprising move, actually knew the answer to that. "First of all, it's about time you drop that highly inappropriate and immature nickname. It's not endearing, and it's not supposed to be. And second, I got a new adjective for you; you're a delusional moron. What prompted you to believe that a girl will remain the same as she did back when she was 16? A lot of things can happen in 10 years. Heck, you don't have to look further than the two of us to see that.

"But –"

"I have yet to finish. Also, personally, I think you've been thinking about Rory so much that you have subconsciously assigned her these traits and characteristics that aren't necessarily her. I know you've liked Rory since the Chilton days, and I don't blame you for carrying this image of her in your head. That's all you had before you met her. But now's the time for you to snap out of it and stop trying to fit her into this mould that you've created. The Rory that you know right now, _that_'s real. Try to see her as who she is, not who she should be."

Tristan chewed on his brother's words carefully and found that it made sense. "Just for the record, you're doing a lot more than listening." Not that he was being unappreciative. But if he remembered correctly, this was the first time he received anything that remotely resembled relationship advice from his elder brother.

"It's for your own good."

"When did you go Oprah all of a sudden?"

"I did grow up with mom, remember. I picked up things." He shrugged. "So you feel better now?"

"Yeah." They stood up and they both tried to swipe away the pieces of grass stuck to their backs. "Maybe I'll call her after dinner. Thanks Christian." He reluctantly, yet sincerely, thanked this unlikely counselor.

"Don't mention it. Now can we go back to the house? I'm starving and I think Marguerite is making crab fritters. My favourite!" He proclaimed enthusiastically.

* * *

Lorelai surveyed her surroundings before going over to answer the door. Candles, check. Music, check. She was even wearing this really, really nice nightie that she got yesterday. She flipped her hair and made sure that she hadn't accidentally sprayed on too much perfume. The last time she did that, Luke wouldn't stop sneezing for the rest of the night.

Luke looked a little worn out lately between the baby scare and his new incompetent waiter ("The boy can't even make toast! I wish I can fire him, but I promised his mother that I'll give him another week."). That's why Lorelai suggested that the two of them should go away for the weekend. Unfortunately, Derek, the new waiter, managed to break the deep fryer, effectively throwing a wrench to their plans. So instead of a relaxing getaway, Luke spent his Saturday waiting for the obscenely tardy technician to come and fix a kitchen appliance.

That's why Lorelai came up with this. Luke would get a nice weekend no matter what.

But right now, he was the furthest thing from her mind.

"Hi sweetie." Lorelai stammered, fully in panic mode once she realized that it was Rory, and not Luke, knocking on her door. If she knew that, she would have answered the door wearing something more appropriated than skimpy black lingerie.

"Hey Mom. I forgot to bring my key and I can't find the one underneath the turtle. Did you move it? Can I come in?" She seemed to not notice Lorelai's attire. She also seemed to be a tad too chipper under these circumstances.

"Su ... Sure." Lorelai hastily grabbed a coat and put it on, not caring that it was a heavy winter coat and it was 90 degrees out there. Damn it, she was doing that blinking, words-can't-come-out-of-her-mouth thing. She only did that when she was nervous, and nothing made her more nervous than conversing with her daughter looking like a Victoria's Secret model.

"Good! Because I got ice cream, twizzlers, funions, and family size sour skittles. But I ate half of that on my way here, so there's only enough for a married couple without kids." She offered Lorelai her half empty bag of candy as she entered the house. "Hey, you want to eat the ice cream first? Either that or we'll have to stick it into the freezer."

"Umm, sure." She stared at Rory as if she was possessed by aliens. "Are you ... am ... am I ... expecting you?"

"No. Not really. I hope I'm not interrupting anything." She said as her false enthusiasm slowly faded away and she tiredly flopped down on the sofa. Rory was far too absorbed in her own drama to notice all the scented candles around her.

"Umm, no ... well ... yes ... NO!" She nervously lied. "You're not interrupting anything. I'm just trying out my Heidi Klum impression. Pretty good huh."

After not getting any response from her daughter, she sat down beside her. "Sweetie, is something wrong?"

"Well-" Rory was going to launch into her relationship woes when the two of them heard the backdoor opening and Luke called out to Lorelai.

"Hey, I brought us something to eat. By the way, the store didn't have the ones I usually get, so I though we can try out this ribbed-"

"Turtleneck sweater!" Lorelai yelled, stopping Luke before this situation could deteriorate any further. God, she was feeling light headed. She was having trouble breathing. Maybe she should put her head between her legs. But that would be a bad idea because she would came face to face with the skimpy panties that she bought to match her nightie.

This is horrible! What had she done to deserve this! Damn it, now she sounded like Emily!

"What the hell are you talking about?" A puzzled Luke walked into the living room after setting down the bag on the dining table. He knew he should try harder to convince Lorelai not to drink coffee after 3 p.m. But when he entered the living room, he saw Rory lying face down on the sofa. He promptly went through 40 shades of red. "Oh. Hi Rory." He barely squeaked out, absolutely mortified.

Fortunately for the two adults, Rory was so absorbed by Tristan that she barely noticed Luke's slip of tongue or Lorelai's clumsy interference. Rory gave him a halfhearted wave, "Hey Luke." and went back to sulking.

Luke, feeling that this had to be one of the most embarrassing experiences in his life, smiled nervously. He went over to Lorelai and dragged her to the dining room.

"Rory's here? Why is she here?"

"I don't know. She didn't tell me. I think she had a fight with Tristan."

"Tristan, her boyfriend, Tristan?"

"No, we're talking about the Wagnerian opera. Of course I'm talking about her boyfriend. How many Tristan's do _you_ know?" Lorelai suddenly caught herself at the edge of a temper tantrum and sighed. "I'm sorry about that. It's just ... this weekend is not supposed to go like this."

"It's okay, I understand." He took a peek at Rory. She was still lying on the couch in the same position. "Maybe I should go and let the two of you have a mother-daughter talk."

"Thanks, I think she needs one. I'm sorry that this weekend turned out to be a huge disaster."

"That's okay, it happens. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

They shared a halfhearted smile. Luke pulled her into his arms and gave her a warm hug. He was going to lean in for a kiss, but this one last romantic moment of theirs was interrupted by the high pitched ringing of Rory's cell phone. Lorelai's curiosity got the better of her and she detangled herself from Luke so she could eavesdrop on the conversation.

Despite her efforts, she could only pick up bits and pieces of it. All she heard was, "No, I'm at Stars Hollow," "I guess," "Do you seriously think you'll miss the gazebo? It's big, it's in the middle of the town, and they just painted it pink," and "I'll see you in 20 minutes." Lorelai heard her hang up and immediately straightened herself. She pretended to take something out of the fridge.

Luke watched Lorelai's charade with amusement. Must be a woman thing.

Rory entered the kitchen and handed her the ice cream, "Mom, I have to go. You probably should put this in the freezer." A figment of the old levelheaded and responsible Rory seemed to have reappeared, "Bye Luke." She waved and left through the front door as abruptly as she appeared there.

After they heard the door bang shut, Luke thought out loud, "Ummm ..."

"That was weird."

"Yeah."

Lorelai shrugged and grabbed a spoon from the drawer. "Ice cream?"

* * *

"Fuck you Gilmore!"

That was Paris's explosive reply after she flipped her phone shut. She was wet, she was miserable and she knew she was going to catch a cold if she didn't get into some dry clothes fast. She was quickly forgetting why she braved this weather without an umbrella. Even more so, she was quickly forgetting why she decided to come here in the first place.

Oh, right, you always showed up when your best friend needed you. Come hell or high water.

She called Rory after ringing her doorbell for 5 minutes with no avail. By the time she tracked her down, she learned that Rory was currently in Stars Hollow and she was not going to come home tonight. She revealed, predictably, that the key was underneath the rug and Paris could spend her night there. Oh and by the way, she got most of her thesis done and it was sitting on her desk if she wanted to take a look at it.

Paris futilely wringed her long hair dry. The two-block walk between the subway station and Rory's house had rendered her completely soaked. Her hair was a mess and her wet shirt clang uncomfortably to her like a second skin. Her toes felt totally gross wearing shoes that were completely soaked. She couldn't believe she blew off a dinner date at Le Cirque for this.

She opened the door to Rory's apartment still muttering creative curses at her best friend. Well, she was here, might as well take advantage of Rory's offer. It was simply raining too hard for her to catch a ride home.

Also, she could really use some dry clothes.

* * *

"Who's that?"

"Paris. We were supposed to have daiquiris and bitch about boys. But I thought she wasn't able to come, so I came over here." Rory replied as she threw her phone into her purse.

Stars Hollow was experiencing the death throes of Indian summer. Indian summer ... is that even politically correct? She shrugged. Everything seems to be politically incorrect right now. For one, there's the much-anticipated appearance of the gazebo. Did all romantic interactions _have_ to happen in a gazebo?

Heck, they were only one song and dance away from a _Sound of Music_ reenactment.

But to say that would imply the two of them were in a lighter mood. It was the exact opposite. They had been doing this for the past 15 minutes. Him standing; her sitting. Silence, averted glances, general avoidance of the elephant in the room, each waiting for the other to start. Quiet tension ran between them. Who knew that Paris's well-timed phone call could break them out of their reverie.

"Would that boy be me?"

"Most certainly." She gave him a wry smile. It was the first time she smiled ever since he got here.

"So, do you spend a lot of time here?" He asked, still not ready to approach the inevitable topic. But the fact that they were talking again gave him the courage to build up to that slowly. He had time, she had time, there was no need to rush.

"You mean Stars Hollow? Yeah, I try to come home every so often." She pointed out the fringe festival banner above them, "I try to make it to most of the festivals. Something outrageous always happens and I wouldn't want to miss it for the world. But lately I have spent less and less time around here." She said that with a touch of regret.

What with her having to split her time between her job in New York, her Grandparents' place in Hartford and now, Tristan, she was finding less and less time for Stars Hollow. Besides, now that Lorelai and Luke were dating, it became mighty inconvenient for the three of them whenever she needed to stay overnight.

That just showed how they had all moved on.

"Look, Rory. I'm sorry about last Friday." There, it wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. "I don't know why I did it. But I promise you it'll never happen again."

Actually, Rory knew why he overreacted and on some level, she was deeply touched by it. In a morbid sort of way of course.

"Tristan, I need you to know that you can trust me no matter what, okay? I do not go around kissing other guys while I'm still dating you." Thank god she had rid herself of that bad habit by now.

"I know that. It's just, sometimes I see things and I stop thinking straight. I know I should be more mature than that. Trust me, I know! But ... it's really hard to explain." He admitted in defeat.

"I understand."

She had been thinking. Would she act out the same way if she saw Tristan having dinner with another woman? The answer was an obvious and resounding yes. "It's okay as long as it never happens again." She smiled at him radiantly. "Come'ere." She patted the spot next to her. He sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her deeply and something in her heart sighed—this was how it was supposed to feel.

It felt good to do this again. Guess things were back to normal now.

When they broke apart, he smiled. A much more relaxed smile. "So you want to tell me what this fringe festival is about?"

* * *

Paris pulled out the frozen pizza from the freezer. God forbid Rory Gilmore have anything more edible than this. The only non-perishables in this house were a can of cheese-wiz and an obscenely large jar of jellybeans. There was also a tub of yogurt. But it seems the yogurt had been harboring an alternate life form for god knows how long. Paris took matters in her own hands and threw that away.

She read the instructions on the box carefully. Either because she always read the instructions carefully or that she had never reheat a frozen pizza before.

She had taken a hot shower and threw her own clothes into the dryer. Her wet hair was encased in a towel and was neatly knotted on top of her head. She dug around the kitchen to find something to place the pizza on as she reheated it. She finally set her sights on a cookie sheet tucked to the bottom of the cupboard. The fact that Rory owned a cookie sheet was enough of a miracle.

She tried to pull the cookie sheet out. All of this made so much noise that she didn't notice somebody creeping towards the kitchen. When she finally pulled it out, she was able to sense the presence of another person in the room. She whipped her head around and was accosted with the sight of a man with a baseball bat.

Paris did what her instincts told her to do.

She let out a bloodcurdling scream – that is, until the man slapped a hand over her mouth and stopped her.

Now that her fight or flight instincts had subsided, she was able to see the person's face more clearly. She instantly recognized him as Jess, Rory's infamous roomate.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Jess muttered as took his hand of her mouth and tugged his ear, "You sound like a mandrake."

He remembered Paris. He occasionally caught a glimpse of her whenever Rory dragged her to Stars Hollow for the holidays or the myriad of festivals in town. But the last time he actually talked to her dated back to their heated debate over the validity of the beat generation. That felt like ages ago.

"Why are you here?" They both asked simultaneously.

"You first?" They both answered simultaneously.

"I live here." He stated the obvious.

"I know that. But I thought you're in Chile, and you won't be back for a while."

"I was supposed to come home on Monday. But we wrapped up early so I caught an earlier flight home." He was going to continue justifying his presence when he realized he shouldn't be the one doing the explaining. "Why are _you_ here? And is that _my_ shirt?"

"My clothes were soaked and I need to put them in the dryer. Since I can't fit into anything that Twiggy has in her closet, I took your shirt. I hope you don't mind."

Even if Jess minded, there was not much that he could do about it. "Okay, we got that part cleared up. But you still have yet to tell me why you are here."

"Oh, Rory had a fight with Tristan. We're supposed to get drunk and bitch about our boyfriends. By the way, I use the term 'boyfriend' loosely since all I'm going to complain about is the man that my mom forced me to date. Not exactly a 'boyfriend,' but, close enough."

"She had a fight with Tristan?"

"Had. Past tense. I just called her and Tristan is there with her in Stars Hollow. It seems she isn't planning on coming back into town tonight." Paris was oblivious to the change in Jess's voice as she shoved the pizza into the oven.

"Oh."

"Here, why don't you go take a shower. The pizza should be ready in–" She held up the box and read the fine print, "35 minutes. Now, do you know where Rory keeps her blow dryer?"

* * *

"Here's Miss Patty's. When I was a kid, for reason that's still unknown, mom made me take lessons here. I'll let you know that I'm the _worst_ baton-twirler in the tri-state area. My head took a lot of hits back in those days."

"I'm glad that didn't affect your brain. What about that?"

"That's the diner, the only place where Kirk was never employed. Luke said Kirk was like that sick puppy that you want to put to death."

"What a ... charming ... man. And he's dating your mom?" He asked incredulously.

"Oh don't let that fool you. He's a big softie inside."

They continued to stroll around the town with her introducing him to the various sights and the stories that came with them. She told him about Babette's gnomes and Taylor's totalitarian take on town politics.

"I hate to interrupt this tour. But I'm wondering, where is the end of this?"

"What?"

"Well, we've decided it was too late to drive back to New York and you said we can't stay at your mom's place. So where are we going to spend the night? Are we going back to gramp's place?" He admitted that it wasn't one of his best ideas.

Rory's wasn't too hot on that idea either. It was one thing to stay over after dinner. But it was another thing to drop in unannounced on Tristan's grandfather. She mulled over it a bit and found a solution, "I know, we can stay at the inn!"

"Dirty! I like!" He wriggled his eyebrows mischievously.

"Oh stop it. It's an inn, not a motel off the Las Vegas strip." She lightly chided. "We can check and see if they have any openings. I'm sure I can bribe Michel into letting us stay there for free."

"Sure, I won't mind that." His stomach suddenly interrupted their conversation with a loud grumble. Now that the most urgent thing on his mind was lifted, he remembered that he had hardly eaten any of his dinner.

She giggled at that. "I'm hungry too. I have yet to have dinner." She pointed to the restaurant across the street. "How about Thai food? Do you like Thai food?"

"But it says Al's Pancakes."

"Oh you'll see."

* * *

"Why are you picking out the pineapples? They are the best part of a Hawaiian pizza!" He took the pineapple chunks off Paris's plate and placed it on his own slice.

"They're fruit. And I don't like fruit in my pizza."

"Tomato is a fruit is well. Don't see you picking those off your pizza."

"That's different." She mock huffed.

"You want some more wine?" Jess offered.

There was something remarkably strange here. They hadn't seen or talked to each other for years, and back then when they did talk, it was about something as neutral as books. Yet, now, they had developed some sort of familiarity and compatibility between them. In the past hour, they have touched upon nearly every subject possible.

Or maybe it's the alcohol talking.

"Yes please." She took a sip from her glass. "This wine is good. I'm surprised. I never pegged you as a wine person."

"I'm not. My crew and I stayed with a family in Chile. They have this big-ass vineyard and when we left, the host gave each of us a bottle. You want that?" He gestured to the last slice.

"No. I'm stuffed."

"So tell me about your boy ... excuse me, 'non'-boyfriend."

"What? I can't tell you that!"

"Why not?"

"Because you're a ... guy!"

"Well, didn't you come over to bitch about guys? Doesn't mean Rory has to be present for that." He rationalized. "I'm a surprisingly good listener sometimes."

Paris was barely convinced. But nonetheless, she slowly opened up to him about her disastrous date with Wilbur and all his unintended humor. "Once, I was telling him about this exhibition that I saw in Brussels and halfway through, he asked me if Man Ray is some sort of aquatic animal."

"You're shitting me. He really said that?" He asked in disbelief.

"Verbatim." Paris finished her glass of wine.

"Man, he would be a perfect match for Deanna." Jess reached over to fill up her glass only to realize that they had polished off the whole bottle. At Paris's puzzled look, he added, "I dated this girl who couldn't tell the difference between Dennis Miller and Glen Miller."

"People can be so _stupid_ sometimes." She furrowed her brows and frowned. "The sad part is, Wilbur and I might end up together someday." _If her mother and his mother have their way with it._

She just sat there, engulfed in deep thoughts and troubled by her current predicament. And all Jess could think of was how mesmerizing she looked.

A feeling overcame him. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps her presence was filling some sort of void in him. And perhaps, a big perhaps, he genuinely wanted to do that. Whatever the reason may be, he found himself leaning in. She sensed that and she inched her chin up higher and looked him in the eyes with anticipation.

Then they kissed.

It was soft at first. His lips barely grazing hers. The second time they kissed, she kissed him back with a fervent urgency that she had never experienced before and he responded readily. His hands rested on that spot behind her neck and beneath her hair. She melted at his touch and her hands closed around the front of his shirt.

As cliché as it sounded, there was an undeniable connection between them.

* * *

It was quiet.

Well, not totally. She could still hear the traffic outside. She could hear his rhythmic breathing. But aside from that, she felt quiet. A type of quiet and peacefulness that could only come after prolonged excitement.

And that damn sure was a prolonged excitement.

It had stopped raining, and at some time, she forgot when, the windows were open. She twisted her head slightly to observe him. He looked relaxed in his sleep. The bed sheets entwined his body the same way it entwined hers. But it offered no coverage though. A cool breeze sneaked through the open windows and it tickled her moist skin. Skin damp with perspiration.

His arm slung lightly over her stomach. It looked as if it was most natural thing in the world. As if his arms would be stretched out like that regardless of her presence.

Paris waited longer until she could hear him snore. She lightly pushed his arm away and got out of bed. She sneaked out of the room and found her clothes in the dryer, just where they should be. She hastily put them on and called a cab.

It was best for her to leave right now and spare them the embarrassment. She could wake up and find Rory here. Worse yet, she could wake up and find him there. Because then, she wouldn't know what to say to him. She couldn't face him until she had enough time to analyse what just happened.

Before she left, she took a peek at him and the can of worms that they had opened.


	14. What Can I Say?

**Disclaimer**: I did 13 chapters of disclaimers already. No matter how dumb you are, I'm sure you clue in by now that GG is not my rightful property.

**Metamorphoses**

**14 – What Can I Say?**

Jess picked up the phone. He stared hard at the numbers on a scrap piece of paper and then stared hard at the numbers on the phone. The monotonous dial tone hummed impatiently as if coaxing him into action. He had been repeating that motion with more or less the same result: chickening out and slamming the phone back onto the cradle.

Procrastination is a curse.

He stared at the phone angrily, as if accusing it for his current indecisiveness. An unstoppable wave of frustration attacked him. He was frustrated at his own hesitance. But mainly he was frustrated at himself.

He kept analyzing that night. Jess remembered their entire conversation, up to and including that Man Ray bit. Well, that proved that he was sober enough to be aware of his actions. But try as he might, he couldn't remember why he leaned in and kissed her and why they did more than kissing. No amount of analyzing could give him the proper explanation that he so desperately needed.

Why? Why? WHY? _WHY???? _

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since that night and he still couldn't figure out the reason behind the action. It had been two weeks since he last saw her retreating figure, holding back the urge to yell out her name.

That thought alone, the fact that he wanted to call out her name, the fact that he selfishly wanted her to stay next to him, was an entirely new experience for him. And that scared the shit out of him. He didn't know what to do with this newfound emotion.

So he did nothing.

And because of that, he kept wondering if he should've done _something_.

Jess ducked into the kitchen and retrieved a beer from the fridge. He pressed the cold bottle against his forehead, hoping its icy coolness might help clear his mind.

What surprised him the most though was the amount of time and energy he used to decipher that night.

Why did he kiss her? Why did she kiss him back? Why didn't she back off when he pulled off her shirt? Why did she press herself against him when rationale should've prevented her from doing so?

These were questions with no concrete answers. At this point, he had to admit he only knew one thing: the fact that he was upset.

Upset. Not disappointed, not regretful, not angry. He was upset.

Was he upset because he might've ruined a possible friendship? Perhaps. Paris was smart and articulate and he would love to know somebody, besides Rory, that could keep up with him intellectually.

Was he upset because of all people, he slept with Paris, Rory's best friend? Well, a little bit. He knew that night would forever alter the dynamic between the three of them.

As if his current relationship with Rory wasn't complicated enough as was.

There was one possibility that he didn't consider. Or perhaps the idea flashed across his mind, but he quickly deemed it too absurd to be true. The possibility that he _might_ have done this as a reaction to Rory's seemingly indestructible relationship with Tristan.

But that was just silly!

He just couldn't figure this out. He approached Rory's room. He would like some advice on this mess and it seemed Rory was a likely counselor on this subject.

On the other hand, he really didn't know how to start.

_Hey Rory, remember that night when Paris was supposed to show up but you ditched her and went to Stars Hollow? It was two weeks ago, remember that? Well, guess what, while you and DuGrey made up, Paris and I, for reasons that are unknown to me, ended up sleeping together. We haven't seen or conversed with each other since then. So, what do you think?_

Yeah, that would go smoothly. For one, Rory probably didn't know they had seen each other. She assumed that Paris left the apartment before Jess came home. He never took time to correct that presumption. And judging by the lack of reaction from Rory, Paris probably didn't tell her about it either.

At least they had an unexpected and unspoken mutual agreement on the secrecy of the matter.

Some part of him rejected the idea of telling Rory the whole truth. What happened probably should remain as a secret until both of them figured it out. Or at the very least, until they discussed it.

That was the other frustrating thing about this. He didn't know what Paris was thinking. Was she regretting it? Was she mad? Did she stay awake at night contemplating their situation? Did she dismiss it as a momentary lapse of sanity and pretend it never happened? Did she even care?

What was going through her mind at this moment?

That's it, enough second-guessing. He needed to talk to Rory about this.

Jess took a deep breath and swallowed all his apprehensions. He poked his head into Rory's room and saw that she was working on something. The weaker part of him, the part that didn't want to discuss this openly, saw this as the perfect chance to retreat. But he suppressed those urges and knocked on Rory's door anyway.

"Rory." He sounded much more hesitant than he expected.

"Oh. Hey Jess." Rory reached over to her stereo to turn down the volume. "I didn't hear you. Come on in."

"I'm sorry if I interrupted anything. I can come back later."

"No, sit. I just have to edit one more paragraph and then I'm done."

He went over and sat on his usual spot on the bed while he arranged his words. He wanted to tell her all his troubles, right off the bat. But he didn't. The words waiting on the tip of his tongue dissolved without a trace. What followed was just silence.

He thought he would miraculously know what to say once he saw her. But Rory's presence didn't make this any easier. After a second try and still not finding the right words, he retreated to a topic that he was comfortable with.

"Is it Gwen Stefani that I'm hearing?" _Yeah, smooth, Jess_

"Yeah, Tristan and I exchanged a pile of CDs."

Rory knew that their diverging music tastes wasn't the reason behind their fight, but they did fight over it and she was uncomfortable with this gap between them. After that horrible experience, Rory didn't want to fight with Tristan again. One way of approaching this was to eliminate the things that they could fight over.

First up, music.

So she suggested a CD exchange. She lent him some of her CDs and he reciprocated. He liked that idea too, agreeing that perhaps they could find some common ground through this. So far, his choice of music yielded quite a few pleasant surprises.

Perhaps she overestimated the slight discrepancies in their music taste. This seemed to be the perfect exercise for her to learn to let go and accept these discrepancies.

Rory didn't notice it, but Jess's face scrunched up for a millisecond at the mentioning of Tristan. But he didn't do it on purpose. It seemed to be a natural response. Like blinking, or breathing. It was an automatic gesture that he wasn't even aware of as he did it.

"This reminds me of junior high."

"It wasn't that bad." She defended Tristan naturally.

"I didn't say it was bad. I just said this reminded me of junior high." Back when he liked No Doubt. Don't ask him how. Actually, even though he didn't think too highly of them now, _Tragic Kingdom_ was still one of his guilty pleasures.

"I wasn't sure when Tristan gave me this. But now that I've actually listened to it, _Tragic Kingdom_ wasn't as bad as I expected. In fact, I kind of like it." She said that with a touch of disbelief. As if she didn't know how that had happened.

"What else did he give you?"

"Buck 65. Have you heard of them?"

"Him, singular. He's a rapper, not a band. I think he's Canadian"

"Rap?" She asked incredulously. Why would Tristan give her _rap_?

"Rap, blues, hip-hop, electronica, it's hard to pin down a particular style on him. He's quite good actually." He reluctantly gave credit to Tristan's choice. "What else?"

"Yeah Yeah Yeahs."

"I thought you liked them?"

"Not since they got famous and performed on the MTV movie awards."

"You really have to correct your bad habit of dumping bands once they get big."

"That's almost exactly what Tristan said." She fished out the CD and looked at the song list. She had to admit, she did like _Fever to Tell_ and perhaps she gave up on them too soon.

"I've been telling you that since forever," he muttered. He was mildly dejected at the way she valued Tristan's opinion more than his despite them having the exact same opinion.

"I know. But bands usually suck once they go multi-platinum. Case in point, The Strokes. And even if they don't suck, their styles became different. Like the Black Eyed Peas."

"I guess. But the same rules don't apply to everybody." He gestured at Rory to hand over the CD case. He took out the No Doubt CD from the stereo and exchanged it for Yeah Yeah Yeahs. "See, still awesome."

"Hmm. Not bad," she agreed.

"Is that all that all you got?"

"Nope. I got Hot Hot Heat and–" Rory fished around for the last CD, "The Sounds. Have you heard of them?"

"Yep. I have to say, DuGrey's music collection isn't as bad as I expected it to be. So what did you give him?"

"A. C. Newman, Dismemberment Plan, Radio Berlin, Dandy Warhol and Lemon Jelly. It's a little bit of everything."

"A. C. Newman. He's the guy from The New Pornographers right?" Rory nodded. "Did he like them?"

"So far he has yet to call me and complain. So I assume he likes them," she shrugged.

"Hey, you want to go out to dinner tonight?"

Jess knew he wasted enough time talking about music and he knew he should approach the topic of Paris. But at the last minute, he stalled. Honestly, he still didn't know how to tell Rory about that night.

He was really getting good at procrastinating.

"Sure. But Paris is coming to pick up her thesis, so we have to wait for her."

"Paris is coming _here_ to pick up her thesis?"

"Yeah. I can't believe I actually managed to finish editing that thing. It was so freakishly long," she complained. "Most of the time I didn't even know what she was talking about. I just picked up the typos and grammar mistakes and hope she has somebody else to figure out the technical part of it."

"Paris. Here?" Jess was still too shocked to properly digest this new development.

"Yes, Paris. Remember that time you dropped in on our study session? Heck, that was before I started dating you! Man, that was a long time ago." She said that last part softly, as if it was a memory worth dwelling on. "Maybe we can see if she wants to join us. I'm sure you guys can pick up right where you left off."

Jess was glad that he had finished his beer by now because had he been drinking, Rory's comment will for sure cause him to choke on his drink. Nonetheless, Jess was properly stunned.

_Oh,_ _you have no idea where we left off. You couldn't even _guess_ where we left off. _

Somehow, the picture of him having dinner with Paris, in the presence of Rory, pushed him to the edge of an aneurysm. Just before he could voice his protest over the dinner arrangement, the doorbell rang.

"That must be her!" Rory walked excitedly towards the door.

At that moment, a thought crossed Jess's mind. Should he hide underneath Rory's bed? You know, just to keep the procrastination streak alive. But he didn't. He sucked it up and leaned against the couch, trying his best to appear as nonchalant as possible.

Maybe her unannounced appearance was a sign telling him that he should confront her head-on.

When the girls finished their greetings and hugging, Jess pushed himself off the couch and said, "Hey Paris." He hoped that came out as casual sounding as he intended it to be. "Long time no see!" He added that part for the benefit of Rory.

"Oh, hi Jess." She was less successful in adopting a casual tone. In fact, Jess thought he might detect a hint of hurt in her voice.

"Paris, would you like a drink?"

"Sure. Can I have something without caffeine please?" She stuttered a bit, obviously still shocked at seeing Jess here.

She silently scolded herself. Why was she so surprised at seeing him here? After all, the guy did live here.

"The only non-caffeine drink we have is water and herbal tea." He suggested after mentally scanning the pantry. "You know Rory."

"I'll have the tea then."

"I'll be right back. Jess, help me entertain Paris while I make tea."

Rory left the room. And then there were two.

They both stared awkwardly at each other, searching for the right words to say to each other. Both of them clearly not used to handling emotions of such magnitude. Both of them clearly were not accustomed to such awkwardness.

After a short pause, all Jess could come up with was a rather lame, "How are you?"

"Fine," she replied succinctly.

They lapsed into the familiar silence again. After a moment, one of them spoke up again. This time, it was Paris's turn.

"About that night-"

Before she could finish her sentence, they heard the whistling of the water kettle. Rory was going to come back soon and they obviously needed much more time to detangle this mess that they were in.

Quickly, Jess suggested, "There's a coffee shop across the street-"

"Run by that sweet Canadian couple? I know where you're talking about, I've been there."

"I'll wait for you."

Those four words would have probably sounded much better in another context.

"Okay."

"So, did you guys catch up with each other while I was gone?" Rory came back and handed her the cup of hot tea.

"Yes. Paris just told me she's getting a PhD in biochemistry." Jess easily recalled their previous conversation.

"No, I'm _close_ to getting my PhD. I still need to hand in my thesis for approval." She was much more at ease now. He could hear it from her voice. "Speaking of my thesis, are you done with it?"

"Yeah. It's right here in my room. I think we should go through parts of it together because I'm not exactly sure what you meant. All those technical terms got a bit confusing after a while."

Before Rory went in to retrieve her thesis, Jess piped up, "Hey, why don't I leave the two of you alone. I just remember Matt's sister's birthday is coming up and she wanted a copy of the compiled works of the Grimm's Brothers. I want to see if I can find a copy."

"Oh, Okay. Are we still going to dinner afterwards?"

"We'll see. How about I'll call you if I can't make it back in time."

"Sure. Hey Paris, you want to go to dinner after this? We can still go even if Jess can't make it."

"Nah. I'll need to work on that thesis." She lied easily. "Besides, Wilbur and I are catching a movie later tonight."

"Aww. Too bad." Rory was the only person in the room that was speaking the truth.

"Yeah, too bad," Jess grabbed his keys and opened the door. "Well, I'll see you later. Paris, it's always a pleasure seeing you. Maybe we can have a longer chat next time."

"Sure. I got a post-doc at the Rockefeller Institute. So maybe I'll drop by here more often." Well, that wasn't a lie.

"That's nice. Bye!"

Jess slammed the door behind him and took a deep breath. He slowly began to piece together the words that he was going to say later as he waited for the elevator.

If he wasn't so preoccupied by Paris, he might notice this was the first time he stood Rory up.

Instead of the other way around.

* * *

When he first saw her walking into the café, he expected another extended awkward silence. But she sat down, ordered her drink, and quickly got to the point. Guess two weeks of stasis was enough of a motivation and icebreaker for her.

"It wasn't a mistake." She said that assertively. And Jess believed her.

"No it wasn't."

"Then what's with the radio silence?" She was part desperate, part hysterical, part accusatory.

"I didn't know what to say," he admitted truthfully. "I damn well couldn't call you and say, 'Hi Paris, it's me, Jess. That was a nice shag. Listen, you want to catch an off-Broadway show this Tuesday?'"

"You don't have to be vulgar about it!" She hissed.

"I'm not being vulgar, I'm telling the truth. The problem is I didn't know what to say to you if I did call you. I can't _explain_ why I did that, because honestly, I _still _can't figure out why exactly I kissed you. I don't want to apologize because honestly, I don't regret it. And as you've just said, it wasn't a mistake.

"The only thing I know was that it felt good, and for a moment, it felt real. And because of that, I'm a little bit scared because right now because I'm afraid it was all a fling to you.

"I hope it wasn't a one-night-stand." He said that with a sincerity and candidness that both shocked and impressed her.

That was the other reason why he was too afraid to call her. What if she icily told him that what happened between them was indeed a one-night-stand. A chance occurrence. All that worrying and hesitation would come crashing down to an anticlimactic end.

Paris digested his words. Was that Jess Mariano's twisted way of asking her out?

"It wasn't," she assured him.

As absurd as it sounded, there was _something_ between her and Jess and she didn't want to give up on him before she could verify the exact nature of it.

"Oh." He felt relaxed for the first time in two weeks. "So, you want to go to an off-Broadway show this Tuesday?"

Before she could answer him, she wanted to make a point very clear. He should be aware of the rules before he was too late in the game.

"Here's a problem. Remember Wilbur, my non-boyfriend? Well, he's not going anywhere soon. In fact I wasn't lying when I said we're going to a movie later." Her anticipation to that event dwindled steadily as time flows by.

She wanted Jess to know that Wilbur was that unwanted third wheel that she could never get rid of. In fact, she wanted him to understand that if they ever have a relationship, in any shape or form, it would be a love-triangle-from-Hell right off the bat.

Jess contemplated her implications. Strangely, he understood that Wilbur was only an obligation, more so than Paris expected him to understand.

He looked at the person sitting before him. Pretty, funny, smart as a whip. The last time he met someone like that was ... well ... Rory. He easily argued that he couldn't give Paris up just because of a _technicality_.

"You said you do not care about him, right?" Paris nodded. "Then I don't give a flying fuck."

Paris smiled. Somehow, that marked the unorthodox beginning to their wholly unorthodox relationship.

* * *

**Author's note**: As I once stressed, the pairing right now may not be permanent. It appears to be Trory and Dipper for this moment. But I do reserve the right to keep them ambiguous. And you (or I, for that matter) won't know the exact pairing until there's a "The End."


	15. Why am I Holding a Green Toothbrush?

**Disclaimer**: I'm too lazy to make one. Refer to the first 13 chapters.

**Dedication**: to **Jamie**! It's her birthday!

**15 – Why am I Holding a Green Toothbrush?**

It was some time between the middle of the night and early in the morning when Rory woke up to the sound of light snoring. Darn her internal alarm clock for waking her up at this godforsaken hour.

She was still too groggy to be considered fully awake. Nonetheless, she somehow knew that she was in Tristan's bed (not surprising), wearing one of Tristan's shrunken old T-shirts (not surprising). She also knew that he was only wearing his boxers and he was spooning her from behind (again, not surprising).

Rory wondered why she had woken up. Most likely because she needed to drag her lazy ass out of bed. It was a weekday today and she needed to go to work.

_But I don't wanna,_ she whined to herself.

She was comfortable here. The bed was warm and soft, Tristan was holding her, and his hypnotic light snoring could easily lull her back to sleep. She snuggled closer against him. Besides, she argued, it still looked way too dark for her to go home. But as she edged towards full-alertness, her rational mind slowly took over and commanded her to get up and get out.

Rory grumbled lightly, before she gathered her determination to leave. But Tristan easily torpedoed her plan. As she moved her legs from underneath the covers, he stopped snoring and instinctively tightened his arms and held onto her. He could be such a light sleeper sometimes.

"Tristan," she whispered

"Don't go," he murmured.

"I have to," she said ruefully. She wasn't some sort of masochist; of course she preferred staying in bed and remaining wrapped in his arms rather than having to leave right now. She was all too aware of the way Tristan nuzzled his head comfortably on her shoulders and the way his breathing lightly caressed her skin. And it was distracting her from her current task.

_But you need to go to work_. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

"No. Stay," he moaned petulantly. His husky voice was doing a fine job at shaking her resolve.

"Tristan."

"Five more minutes," he bargained while raining soft kisses on her shoulder.

"No. Because five minutes will turn into ten, ten will turn into fifteen and the next thing I know, I'll never get out of bed!" She turned around to face him think she could confront him easier. But the plan backfired. His half-awake bedroom eyes only served to remind her how dead sexy he was in the morning.

Rory groaned at her weakness.

"And that would be bad because-"he was obviously too tired for a decent smirk, so that was more like a mischievous smile.

"I need to go to work! And so do you!"

"No we don't. It's Saturday, now go back to sleep." He kissed her forehead and tucked her head under his chin.

"It's Wednesday, you silly goose and you know it."

He didn't offer any rebuttal. Instead, he just held her closer. A little voice in Rory pointed out how delicious he smelled and how nice it was to have him run his fingers through her hair. Once more she questioned herself whether she _really _needed to leave right now.

Rory sighed in defeat and allowed herself another five minutes in his embrace. She slowly lost count of the minutes and relaxed easily as time ebbed. She was on the edge of sleep when Tristan's light snoring woke her and reminded her of her upcoming workday.

Rory poked his chest, "Tristan. I really should get going."

"Call in sick," he replied automatically as if it was the most natural solution to this problem. He eyes were closed, as if he couldn't muster the energy to stay fully alert. In fact he sounded like he was talking in his sleep rather than conversing with her.

"I can't. I never call in sick."

"All the more reason for you to call in sick. Break the rules for once."

She wanted to tell him resoundingly that she wasn't sick, she wasn't going to lie about it, and she was going to get out of this bed at this exact moment so she could get to work on time. But, intentionally or unintentionally, Tristan's hand slipped south, stroking a path down her flank and onto her hip before cupping one cheek of her bottom. He was doing this wonderful thing with his fingers on her inner thighs that made her speechless _every single time_.

Tristan's persuasion tactic was obviously working. The only thing coming out of her mouth was a garbled moan instead of her supposedly assertive retort. All her previous plans were momentarily put aside.

Rory allowed herself to enjoy this delightful sensation for a little longer until that pesky alarm bell in her head once more reminded her that if she didn't stop this right now, she would _never _get out of bed.

That little voiced asked, _would that really be such a bad thing?_

"Tristan, I have to go. I need to go home and change." That sounded a lot weaker than she intended it to be. But she did try to strengthen her resolve by shifting her legs away from his touch.

"Why?"

"Because I need a fresh change of clothes."

"Just wear the ones you wore." His muddled mind offered any excuses in an attempt to extend her stay.

"I can't wear the same set of clothes to work two days in a roll. People will know!"

"Know what? That you got laid?"

"Tristan!" She instantly swatted his arm.

Her lighthearted swat had jolted him awake. She could feel him stretch out his arms and roll over to lie flat on his back. But he still held onto her waist as if fearing that she would pounce out of bed the moment she got the chance.

"I've been thinking about this."

"About what."

"Clothes."

"What about them?"

"Do you want a drawer?" He pointed to the dresser with his toes. "You can keep some of your stuff here so you don't have to run home at-" he glanced at the clock, "5:30 in the morning to change."

Rory thought carefully. She never had a drawer. Correction, she had never been in the kind of relationship that led to a drawer. Either she didn't sleep with her boyfriend, thus negating the need to have a drawer, or she just cut her post-coital snuggle short and slipped out in the morning, once more, negating the need of a drawer.

But now, Tristan was offering her a drawer! He was willing to share a bit of his personal space! On her scale of important-relationship-moments, this ranked as high up as him saying, "I love you" for the first time.

She smiled, "A drawer? For me?"

"Yep, the third one from the bottom."

"It _would_ be nice to put a few clean shirts and a nice sweater there," she mused.

"There's a catch though."

"What?"

"Well, you'll have to pay for it." For a moment there, she thought he was serious. But then she caught the mischievous glint in his eyes and she decided to play along.

"And what kind of payment do you expect?" She easily mimicked his impish smile.

"Do you know that Wednesdays are also called hump day?" He drew little light circles with his fingers on her taut stomach and it caused this tingling feeling. She pulled him closer.

"I don't think they meant _that_ when they come up with that name," she laughed.

"Well, I guess we should give it _our_ own definition then." Those circles skirted close to the top of her panties. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to call in sick. After all, she had never called in sick and she must have had a bunch of sick days accumulated under her name.

Tristan languidly crawled on top of her and gave her a soft kiss on the tip of her nose before kissing her full on the mouth. It was at that moment when all her resolve flew out of the window. She reached down to tug off his boxers as he did that nibbling thing with her ear that _also_ could render her speechless.

Now that she thought about it, there were a lot of things that Tristan could do to render her speechless.

"Hmm. Tristan."

"Yeah."

They were still kissing when they flipped so now she was straddled across his lap, her shirt slid up as her legs parted around him. His hands continued to stroke her naked bottom. Rory sighed and steadied herself onto him.

"I think _both_ of us should call in sick today." She placed her palm on his forehead and mocked taking his temperature, "I think you're heating up."

"_Really_." He drawled. "And what's your solution to that?"

"I think bed rest would be a good idea." She suggested throatily as she peeled off her shirt and tossed it onto the floor right next to his boxers.

"I'll stay in bed alright. But I don't think I'll get any rest." Rory let out a surprised shriek when he pulled her down onto him. Her panties soon joined that small heap of clothing on the floor.

* * *

It was well past noon when Jess figured it was time to roll out of his bed. In his head, he constructed the perfect excuse for sleeping in. He was heading abroad on his next assignment tomorrow and he was adjusting his biological clock ahead of time in order to avoid jetlag.

Yep, that sounded right.

Except there was this fatal flaw in his excuse: he was only flying to Lake Louise, Canada. The time difference wasn't _that_ big.

He scratched his stubble and stretched out before he stumbled out of his room. He mumbled some mild obscenities when he stubbed his toe against a hardcover book on the floor. He was too lazy to pick up the book right now, so he just kicked it underneath the bed to avoid similar encounters in the future.

So far, that was normal.

He continued to stumble into the bathroom and brush his teeth. Jess took a toothbrush from the holder and squeezed a liberal gob of toothpaste on it. He was this close to inserting it into his mouth, but there was something subconsciously jarring about his reflection in the mirror, so he retracted the toothbrush.

He didn't know what exactly was throwing him off, so he carefully examined his reflection. Messy hair that could use a haircut, normal; his old Ramones T-shirt with the words so faded that he could only make out the truncated "Ra-o-s", normal; his green toothbrush ...

_Not _normal!

He stared at the toothbrush. When did it become green? He jogged his memory, even though his brain was still too groggy for such activity. He remembered her fanatic colour-coding system. Rory had a pink toothbrush and he had a blue toothbrush. She even made a haiku for him to remember.

When did she change her colour coding and give him a green toothbrush?

Then he looked at the holder again. There, sitting innocently next to Rory's pink toothbrush was his own blue toothbrush.

That meant the toothbrush that he was holding right now was-

_DuGrey_'s!

He couldn't believe the way he was tripping over Tristan's stuff in here. He should just wash off the toothpaste, place the toothbrush back on the holder, and pretend this was all a bad dream or just ignore the implications. But he was only half-awake and he was not entirely in control of his rational mind.

This prompted him to absolutely flip out and went on a scavenger hunt in his bathroom. He dug around the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of pills, painkillers or some sort, that had Tristan's name on the prescription label. Why would his medication was turn up _here_?

He looked more carefully elsewhere. Somewhere in the back of the cupboard, he found a can of shaving cream. He knew it wasn't his because it wasn't Jess's preferred brand. Next to the shaving cream was a bottle of shower gel that he recognized as neither his nor Rory's.

He was not happy at the way these inanimate objects accumulate and the way it had started to invade _his_ bathroom.

Jess looked at a newfound razor. On the bright side, at least he wasn't unwittingly sharing his personal hygiene products with DuGrey. On the down side, who knew how much more of his stuff would Jess find around the house. Did Rory get a new cup for him? Did he keep a fresh set of clothes in her room? Was that newly acquired plant actually _his_?

He sat down on the edge of the bathtub to steady himself. Really, he didn't know why he was this upset or surprised. It had been almost four months since they bought that light bulb, which, incidentally was right above him. Was it that surprising to see her relationship progress this far?

Jess couldn't help but remind himself that he was seeing Paris right now. (Though he wouldn't exactly call himself her boyfriend and they both thought it was best to keep this away from Rory, so he wasn't sure how much of a "relationship" that was.) And if he should ever get worried over one person, that person should now be Paris and not Rory.

That's right, Paris. Paris, not Rory, was the one that went out with him and treated him to a nice going-away dinner. Paris, not Rory, was the one who made him laugh when she told him of her misguided attempt at university student activism.

At the same time, he wondered would he get a similar reaction if he found Wilbur's things strewn all over Paris's apartment?

Honestly, he didn't know.

But he knew he should. Theoretically.

When Jess finally collected his wits, he looked at that green toothbrush again. He wondered how long had it been sitting there, blending in amongst the other toothbrushes. Was this a recent development, or did this happen a while ago, back when he was in Chile? He wondered how he could've missed it.

He resisted doing something juvenile, like throwing away the toothbrush or emptying the entire can of shaving cream. Instead, he just gave Tristan's toothbrush a meaningful glance before he washed off the toothpaste and put it back where he first found it.

It was hard, but he did it. He might have willed himself to let go.


	16. He's Your ExBoyfriend?

**Metamorphoses**

**16 – He's Your Ex-Boyfriend?**

**

* * *

**

"Not the Yankees!" Tristan exclaimed once he properly swallowed his dinner.

Inwardly, he compared the superior talents of the cook and Marguerite. But it seemed mean-spirited to make that sort of comparisons.

"I agree." Luke nodded and stabbed a small piece of the chicken. "I'm so tired of the Yankees. Somebody else should grab the title for once before they start to name it after The Yankees. I'm thinking the Mariners. They look good this year."

"Come on now Lucas, don't be silly. They can't win. It'd be lucky if they could advance pass the Cardinals, much less winning the World Series," Richard insisted.

Tristan couldn't help but side with Luke. He actually didn't care much for either team. All he knew was that the Yankees had won way too often. "But they got a new pitcher and they nearly got to the finals last year. I think they have a legitimate shot."

"Well, when I first saw you, I pegged you as a bright young man. But I'm afraid you're seriously wrong in this occasion." Richard waved his fork excitedly as they continued on the topic of baseball. "You know what, I shall wager-"

"There will be no wagering on mydinner table, thank you very much." Emily primly interrupted. Even though she did not know or care enough about baseball to take part in the argument, her inner radar was able to pick up the few keywords that weren't suitable for a dinner conversation. Just because they were sitting on the other end of the table didn't mean she couldn't hear them.

"Fine." Richard rolled his eyes petulantly once Emily looked away. "How about the Cubs? I don't mind seeing them in the finals."

"Are you kidding?" Luke almost choked on his dinner. "Aren't they cursed?" he moaned.

"Oh, so you can see the Cubs win and yet you can't see the Mariners winning?" Tristan couldn't help but question Richard's flawed logic as well.

"I didn't say anything about winning. All I said was they looked they have a legitimate chance of get to the finals. Besides, this whole "curse" business is just a bunch of nonsense since the Red Sox won. Still, don't get me wrong, the Yankees will win the World Series." And thus their conversation came to a full circle. A full, fruitless, circle.

Lorelai curiously watched the conversation anxiously. Her head whipping back and forth between the men as they spewed yet another sentence on a topic she had absolutely no knowledge on. She was peeved to not be included in the conversation, but that was also overwhelmed by her shock over her father's apparently exhaustive knowledge of MLB.

She finally couldn't stand it and nudged Rory with her foot and gestured her to lean in.

"What?" She leaned closer at Lorelai's request.

"Is this normal?" She tilted her head to the right, and said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Rory listened to the men for a short while. "Well, yours was supposed to talk like this. You knew that. Mine taught little league baseball during his college years," Rory said unfazed as she speared a piece of carrot and made a face at it. She casually dumped the vegetable on Lorelai's plate.

Lorelai scooped the carrot back on Rory's plate before she thought out loud, "I know that. Wait … your boyfriend taught little league?" Lorelai asked with disbelief.

"Yeah," she replied nonchalantly and she plunked the carrot back on Lorelai's plate. "I thought I told you that."

"Nope." She strained to conjure up an image of Tristan patiently teaching little kids how to bat properly. She frowned, "Nope, not seeing it. But that's not the point. The point is … when did my father, your_ Robert Frost-quoting_ Grandpa, start talking like that?"

"For goodness sake Lorelai, what are you mumbling about?" Emily interrupted them.

Richard was sitting on the opposite end of the dining table with Luke and Tristan beside him. It infuriated Emily to no end at her inability to join in on their side of the conversation. She didn't care if she had absolutely no idea on what exactly they were talking about. She just wanted to be a part of it. And now, she certainly didn't want to be left out of the conversation on the girls' side of the table as well.

"I'm just trying to figuring out where you hid my real daddy." She tried to dispose the carrot on Emily's plate.

"Lorelai, don't be absurd. We have guests here." Emily said that with a tight smile, as if she was mothering a 7-year-old girl on the verge of spilling cranberry juicy on the white carpet. Lorelai wasn't sure whether she was referring to her question or the carrot. Either way, the traveling carrot ended its journey on Emily's plate as she pick it up and ate it.

"It's the rose bushes isn't it? They do look a lot prettier this year."

"They look prettier because I hired a new gardener." Emily rolled her eyes. "Not because it has a new source of fertilizer."

"Oh sure." Then she added an extra part for her daughter, "I bet the gardener looks like Miguel from _Passions_."

"Mom! Eww! Trying to eat here."

"Lorelai, what are you mumbling about?" Richard suddenly asked and

Lorelai found everybody focusing on her. He cheerfully finished the

last piece of his chicken as he waited for his daughter's reply.

Lorelai, momentarily stunned by all the sudden attention, did not

recognize the similarities between Richard and Emily's question.

"Quick, say something baseball." Rory prodded her mother.

"If you build it, he will come."

"Mom!"

"Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, I don't care if I never get back."

"Mom, what is that?"

"She just quoted Take Me Out to the Ball Game." Luke came to her defense.

"I blame it on you! You keep singing that around the house." She playfully hit his shoulders; he playfully mocked a pained expression.

Richard was the first to laugh uproariously. Then the rest of the table joined in and soon, they all shared a hearty laugh at Lorelai's expense. Even Tristan.

He had been enjoying this dinner so far, trading pleasantries with the Gilmore clan. They welcomed him with open arms and he felt comfortable around them. He grabbed Rory's hand under the table and she squeezed his hand lightly. She mouthed, _see, I told you they'd like you._

Come to think of it, he didn't know why he was so nervous at the prospect of meeting Rory's Family.

* * *

_"What? You want me to meet your mother and you grandparents in one sitting?" he asked incredulously as he walked her home. It was a fine evening and they just finished the entire first season of _Arrested Development_ at his place. He wanted her to stay for the night. But Rory remembered that she still had to do some research for an article that she was working on. _

"_Oh, don't make it sound like you're contracting some incurable disease. They're nice people and they aren't going to go all _Meet the Parents_ on you and hook you up on a lie detector. I've met your grandpa. It's now your turn."_

"_But I didn't ask you to meet my father and my grandpa at once." _

_Tristan freaked out at the possibility of meeting the entire Gilmore clan at one go. Though he did start to wonder when Rory was going to introduce her family to him and he was anxious to meet them. He wasn't _that_ anxious. "How about I'll have dinner with only your mother this weekend? We can arrange dinner with your grandparents at a later date," he suggested._

"_No, because Grandma is dying to meet you. She had been asking about you even since she saw our picture in the paper."_

"_What picture?"_

"_The one they took when we were at Christian's party."_

"_I hate that picture. The angle was all wrong," he grimaced. "How about I'll have dinner with your grandparents first and we'll arrange a dinner date with your mother at a later time."_

"_No, because mom called shotgun."_

"_What am I, a road trip to California? You can't call shotgun on people," he scoffed. This did, however, pique his interest on Lorelai. From the sound of it, Tristan imagined her to be a vivacious and eccentric person. Rory probably inherited all of that from her mother. _

"_Oh, it's possible in Gilmore world. Start getting use to it. Mom didn't want to give grandma the bragging rights and Grandma would feel like she was out of the loop if you meet my mother first. So this seems to be the best solution." She laughed at his frown. "Besides, don't you want to meet all of them at once, just to get it over with."_

"_I don't know. It sounds … intense." He was still hesitant. _

"_On the bright side, my dad and Sherry aren't going to be there. So you have 2 less family members to deal with. Not to mention all the hidden resentment and unresolved issues between them. Don't worry, mom is going to bring Luke. He'll be the buffer." Luke was probably more inept at handling the elder Gilmores than Tristan. But Rory decided to withhold that piece of information. _

_Tristan had to admit, it sounded a lot less traumatizing if there was another non-Gilmore there, but he couldn't resist one last chance to wiggle out of this Friday night dinner. _

"_But I met your grandfather already."_

"_When?"_

"_At your birthday party. I remembered he said you have very good taste in friends and he approved. Clearly we don't have to go through this again."_

_Rory vaguely remembered her grandfather saying something like that, but she wasn't sure. "I don't know about that." She pursed her lips. "Besides, we weren't friends back then, so it doesn't count."_

"_We weren't friends?! Oh Mary, you hurt me." He made a pained expression. _

"_Oh suck it up princess." She chided as she dug around in her bag for her keys. "Come on, I promise you it won't be as bad as you imagined. I'll even tell grandma to make apple tarts. You'll love them."_

"_But I thought the apple tarts are for Christmas." Tristan had heard of the famous apple tarts. He remembered how his grandfather could wax exuberantly at those delicious desserts for hours. _

"_Anything to bribe you."_

"_Fine." Now that he had some time to think about it, he wasn't as intimidated as he was 10 minutes ago. Rory's family sounded like decent people and who knew, he might have a pleasant time with them. He kissed her lightly on her lips before walking her up to the front of her building. "I'll pick you up at 5:30. Those apple tarts better make an appearance." _

_

* * *

_

"Dad, when did you start talking ESPN?" She asked once everybody stopped laughing.

"The cable company mixed up our channels and we went through last month without BBC World. To make up for it, they gave us the sports package for free." Emily soon find out, like any other housewives with a husband on retirement, that men would watch _anything_ on TV if time permitted.

"Ernie McDougal had a baseball pool going on. It was quite fun actually and I'm making a killing at it. I watch TV to polish up on my facts."

"Oh enough about sports," Emily insisted as she waved the maid over to clear the table. She turned to Tristan, "I know you're looking forward to the apple tarts, but the right kinds of apples aren't in season. Do you mind poached pears in bourbon sauce?"

"No, of course not." He was having such a great, relaxing time here that he almost forgot about the bribe.

"Good." Emily smiled. Definitely approved of Rory's latest boyfriend. After extending her patience for a minute she simply couldn't stand the inefficiency of her maid. "My god, this new maid is painfully slow. Let me see what's taking her so long to spoon sauce on a fruit." Emily said in a huff as she stood up and went to the kitchen.

Just at that moment, Rory heard the ringing of her cell phone. She could hear it all the way from another room because she recognized the unique ring tone.

"Sweetie, still Cyndi Lauper?"

"I don't diss Justin Timberlake; you don't diss Cyndi." She laughed at her mother warningly as she went to the living room to retrieve her phone from her purse. She heard her mom sheepishly explaining to Tristan, "I can't help it! _Rock Your Body_ was way too catchy for its own good. Even after that whole nipple-gate fiasco!"

She answered her phone, "Hello."

"Hey it's me. I'm at Lake Louise."

"How was your flight?"

"It's alright." Jess could hear the laugher in the background. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting Friday night dinner."

"No don't worry, Jess. I want to make sure you've arrived safely." She had been having apprehensions about flying ever since she saw _Alive_ when she was 14 and she _insisted_ on Jess calling her once he reached all of his destinations. "What's on your itinerary?"

"Heli hiking."

"What is that?"

"A helicopter drop us of at the remote mountain back country and as the name implies, we then go hiking. We're doing heli fly-fishing as well. But I don't exactly how that works."

"Well, that's not too bad." She feared Jess was going to break his leg one of these days. "At least you're not bungee jumping out of a helicopter."

Her comment was met with silence.

"Jess Anthony Mariano, are you going to bungee jump out of a helicopter?!"

"Helicopter is our theme!" he desperately explained to Rory as if he was asking for permission from a parent to do something insanely adventurous.

Rory wanted to reprimand him, but she knew he was old enough to make these kinds of decisions. She sighed, "Be safe, Jess. Check the equipment before doing anything."

"Yes. Listen, Rory, I have to go now. We're starting early tomorrow morning and I need some rest."

"Okay. Bye." For the sake of redundancy, she added, "Be safe!" again before she hung up.

"Was that Jess?" Luke asked when she got back to the table. He still worried about his occupation. But since he was making an honest living, he really couldn't complain much. "What's he up to this time."

"He's in the Canadian Rockies." She decided to withhold the part with Jess planning to jump out of a helicopter. Luke didn't deserve a heart attack.

"Ah the Canadian Rockies. I remember going there when I was young. The ski resorts were quite nice," Richard reminiscend.

Emily finally emerged from the kitchen and joined the rest of them. The maid sheepishly trailed behind with the much-anticipated desserts. "Was that your roommate?"

Luckily, Rory had told her about her rooming arrangement with Jess _after _she told her she was going out with Tristan. She also helpfully pointed out that Jess was gone on assignment most of the time anyway and insisted they were not "living in sin." Emily, still feeling the elation of her granddaughter dating the grandson of a dear friend, was willing to overlook her current living arrangement.

"Yep." She cooed appreciatively at the elaborately arranged dessert before she lobbed off a piece of pear.

"He was such a nice young man. He knew his Tennessee Williams well." Richard beamed appreciatively as he too ate his dessert. "Too bad he hasn't been here since you two broke up. We had a nice debate on Mussolini the last time he was here."

Rory could feel Tristan tensing up beside her. Oh shit! She never told him about her relationship with Jess, thinking there was always a better occasion at a later date. She blamed her procrastinating tendencies. Of course she didn't expect her _grandfather_ to be the one breaking the news to Tristan.

She didn't need to see Tristan's face to know that she needed to come up with a decent explanation soon.

Tristan's upbringing prevented him from asking out loud. But Rory fully expected a thorough interrogation once they were out of the earshot of her grandparents.

* * *

"You _dated_ Jess? Why did you hide that from me?"

"It was a long time ago and I wasn't 'hiding' the fact. I didn't tell you because my past relationships have no relevance to you." Rory explained as patiently as possible without letting her irritation boil over.

They were on their way back to New York. Tristan's temper had not improved one bit ever since they left her grandparents' house. Fortunately, his tight plastered-on smile remained intact for the rest of the evening and nobody else knew better. Right now though, it seemed no amount of words could pacify him.

This scene was way too familiar for her comfort.

"I think my girlfriend still _living_ with her ex-boyfriend is something that I should know about. Don't you think?" Tristan gripped the steering wheel tightly. She wished he would pay more attention to the road. Rage driving really didn't suit him well.

"Whether you _choose_ to believe it or not, there is nothing between us. I don't see why you're getting so worked up," she huffed.

"He was your EX-BOYFRIEND!" He emphasized every single syllable. "Do you honestly think I'm naive enough to believe there's _nothing_ going on between the two of you?" He suddenly recalled that warning that he got from Jess prior to his first date with Rory. Back then, he didn't think too much of his protective stance.

But the pieces are starting to fall together now.

"Yes. Ex. As in 'in the past.'"

"You still should've told me."

"We broke up years ago. I don't have to tell you anything. I owe you no explanations," she reminded him. Honestly, she dated Jess, big deal. It wasn't as if he never dated anyone before her. Did she ever get all worked up over his ex-girlfriends? In fact, did she even _asked_ about his ex-girlfriends? No. "We are _roommates_ now. A strictly platonic relationship where most interactions usually involve me goading him to pitch in on his share of groceries. There is nothing going on beyond that whether you choose to believe it or not."

Subconsciously Tristan knew Rory wouldn't lie. He knew he should trust her and take her word for it. He knew he should remember what happened last time he got all paranoid over her and another guy.

He knew better. But it still didn't stop him from worrying.

He didn't say anything for the rest of the night and they continued home in tense silence.

* * *

Pseudo-important a/n:

Guys, thanks for you on-going support during these years. Yes, _years_. I just checked, this story started back in 2002. And to further date myself, I remember f4f was down at the time.

So yeah, after talking about all this irrelevant stuff, here's my point: this is stopping. I used to think people who left their stories incomplete are ginormous tool/losers. But it seems I'm joining their ranks. The probability of me updating this is, if I have to throw out a number, around 5.

It had become apparent that it's physically impossible for me to write … at least for now. School is consuming too much of my time and whatever spare time I have, I work on the school paper. In addition, I'm also considering grad school. So I have practically no time during the school year to write (or doing anything else for that matter).

I usually try to write during school breaks. Since I'm leaving Christmas, it's highly unlikely for me to be able to write more during this break. Looking ahead, I'm likely to be away for spring break as well. Honestly, the soonest I can write it is during summer, a whole 4 months away and I'm not even that sure about that.

This is quite distressing for me since this isn't about writers block. I have a clear idea of where this is going and who's going to be in this (Including appearance of: Baily, the golden retriever that is neither golden nor does he "retrieves;" Jacob, the grad school graduate that calls himself a "novelist," but really he's unsure what he wants to do, there's also a car accident …) It's all about lacking the time necessary to transcribe these thoughts into written form. (There are 2 people who knows the entire storyline and can vouch for me.)

So I am profusely sorry about this. But hey, for a story that started out as a one-shot, I'm still amazed by how much it dragged on. 16 chapters!! Wow! And I'm equally amazed by your support and reviews. Without you, I probably would have give up a lot sooner. So a big shout out to ya'll.

I know this sounds like a bombastic rant. But I think you deserve to know.

Once more, a heartfelt thank you to you all.


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